


Tomb Raider: Lilith's Scepter

by Meldelen



Category: Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2001 2003) RPF, Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (Movies), Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms, Tomb Raider (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 52
Words: 212,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5508746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldelen/pseuds/Meldelen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomb Raider: Lilith's Scepter is the sequel of my previous fanfic, Tomb Raider: The Golden Seal, which was, in turn, a sequel to Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness, the unfinished game by Core Design.</p>
<p>After two years, Lara Croft has lost hope of ever seeing Kurtis Trent, who seems to have been swallowed by earth. But the disappearance of the Periapt and the Shards, together with the appearance on the scene of a beautiful and mysterious woman named Bathsheba, will force her to set out again, to fight the Cabal, and maybe to reunite herself with the man she believed outside from her life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Tomb Raider: El Cetro de Lilith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618504) by [Meldelen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldelen/pseuds/Meldelen)
  * A translation of [Tomb Raider: El Cetro de Lilith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618504) by [Meldelen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldelen/pseuds/Meldelen). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is Bathsheba, drawn by the wonderful Adayka.

_Listen, my little one, because I'm going to tell you a story._

_At the beginning of time, the gods descended to Earth and joined the daughters of mortals. From their union were born the first Nephili, the High Breed, to which you belong. For centuries they walked on the Earth, expelled from Paradise due to their illegitimate birth, and lived among mortals, passing onto them their wisdom. But mortals were capricious and fickle, so, tired of them, the Blessed founded a city in the land of Cappadocia to live, a city which they called Eden._

_They struggled to survive for centuries, as the mortals considered them as deadly demons, and although their power was immense, they were finally defeated by an infamous mortal Order called the Lux Veritatis. Those damned chased them relentlessly until almost eliminating them. The last Nephilim, whose mortal name was Joachim Karel, was perhaps the most illustrious of them all. He was your father, my child. With his prolific seed I fecundated my uterus so that a successor would avenge him and continue his great work. For he, who was immortal, was brutally murdered by the last of the Lux Veritatis, a cruel and disgusting man who treacherously killed him using the only weapon that could hurt him: the Periapt Shard. That man was named Kurtis Trent._

_Kurtis Trent. You must remember that name. I've spent sleepless nights repeating his name silently to torment me and wishing with all my forces that the fates kept him alive. Praying that he lived to see him again... and kill him. Kill him by giving him the slowest and most excruciating death you can imagine, because he took away my only purpose in life, the reason for my existence, the only being who I truly loved in this world. But in the end it won't be me who will execute him. It will be you, angelic creature, Daughter of Heaven._

_It will be_ _you, my child, to make that bastard fall on his knees, to crush and humiliate him, to make him pay with his blood the bloodshed of the Blessed One. And I’ll behold from afar my revenge. And then no one will be stronger than us, and nobody will ever crush us._

_May Kurtis Trent have one hundred and a thousand of deaths in a row, one after another._

_May I be present in every one of them._

_And only then my anger will be quenched, and justice will be served._

_But Joachim, my beloved Joachim ... nobody will ever bring him back to me._

 

* * *

 

**Prologue**

“You're the cutest among creatures.” Giselle Boaz whispered in her daughter's ear while gently combing her hair.

The girl looked in the mirror and saw the reflection of her mother's face, full of pride and excitement, then looked at herself and saw nothing but a white, small face, with green intense eyes, and dark hair framing her oval face, falling in locks on her tiny shoulders.

She looked like a seven-year-old girl, but she'd been born just two months ago. If she'd have been allowed to meet other children, she'd already have realized how unnatural and impossible her brutal and precipitous growth was. But her mother kept her hidden from the world as one hides a treasure, and in her short time of life she hadn't met anyone else but her, Giselle, the angel-faced one.

Her mental growth was even faster than the physical one, and although she sensed that there was more world than that lonely farm in the countryside of Argentina and her diaphanous mother, she also had renounced to ask questions, as they were rarely answered.

“Mother, why are we always alone?”

“We're one for each other. We don't need anyone else.”

“But what about Father?”

“You have no mortal father. You're pure as an angel and I conceived you without sin.”

The girl barely understood what that meant. She pretended to be satisfied with the answers she gave to her, but that wasn't enough.

“You're _so_  beautiful, my child.” Giselle repeated, while stroking her hair. In her green eyes - green as her daughter's, green as her deceased sister's, there was a flash of indulgence. She turned to look herself in the mirror, but she saw nothing special in her tiny face.

 

* * *

 

Three days after, people arrived at the farm. She was so excited -   she was finally  going to meet someone!

Unfortunately, everything she felt was disappointment when finding a trio of dark characters. One was a tall and stern man, with a square jaw and thick moustache. The other man was short and bald, and the third was a toothless and horrible old lady, who covered her grey hair with a dark veil, as black as her dress.

“Who are they?” the girl stammered.

Giselle ignored her and said: “Be welcome. This is my daughter.”

The newcomers looked with admiration at the tiny little person, and she realized that since they had entered they hadn't given a single look at Giselle.

“For all that is holy, Boaz.” The bald man whispered. “This time you've outdone yourself.”

“She resembles your sister.” Croaked the horrible old lady. “Although she’s much more beautiful. Really perfect. How did you get it?”

“Shut up, Gertrude!” The stern man snapped, and turning to Giselle, he said, “you're crazy. It was a too risky experiment. Why on earth did you use _yourself_ for...?”

“What did you expected me to do, Schäffer? You fled from Moscow at full speed, you bunch of cowards. I was left alone and if I'd stayed in Europe they would've found me.”

What were they talking about? The little girl looked at them in astonishment. Catching her glance, the old lady called Gertrude cut the discussion and said: “Enough. We've come to fulfil the ritual. The blade is sharp and the altar ready.”

The girl didn't enjoyed those words at all.

 

* * *

 

What she never would've expected was that her mother could take part in _that_.

Giselle suddenly seemed tense, but allowed the man called Schäffer to grab her daughter and take her to a bedroom where Gertrude was preparing an altar covered with red velvet. The girl wondered from where they had taken that.

She got carried to the altar. The burly man stood up and sat her on it - then forced her to lie down. She was too stunned to resist.

“Mother!” She screamed, scared, turning to Giselle, but she didn't move, pale and weak, her arm held by the bald man.

Gertrude began to chant a litany in a strange language which the girl didn't understand, but sounded inexplicably familiar to her. Touching her clothing, the old woman opened the fabric and drew a long, sharp blade with a golden handle. The girl noticed her own terrified face reflected in the blade.

Finally she found the strength to rebel. With a cry of horror she struggled, but Schäffer held her tightly. “Mother! Don't let them kill me! They'll kill me!”

Gertrude bent over her body while her chant became louder and louder, and despite the child's pangs, the sentence ended as she plunged the blade into her chest with an almost imperceptible movement.

A scream tore the air, but it hadn't been the little child who had shouted, but Giselle. Everything was on hold. Schäffer and Gertrude moved away from the altar in silence.

The girl had barely felt a brief flash of pain. She sat up on the altar, and tore the blade from her chest, throwing it to the ground. In doing so, a jet of white liquid flowed from the wound, but gradually reduced itself and before the others' enraptured gaze, the wound closed and remained intact.

Giselle had regained her color in the meantine. Everyone looked amazed, but the little one just wanted to scream, to tell them they were evil and reproach her mother for doing nothing to defend her - which she couldn't, because all them, falling on their knees at once, excited, muttered: “It's true! You’re _so_! We revere you, Lady.”

“What am I?” The girl said, and threw a furious look at Giselle, who wept with emotion.  “Mother! I hate these people! Tell them to go!”

But Giselle crawled on her knees to where she was, took her hands and kissed them with devotion, murmuring: “My child! You're immortal! Do you hear me? _Immortal!”_


	2. The Temple Of Durga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by the flawless Adayka.

“Radha! Come here, you hussy!”

The girl, instead of obeying, ran away. She reached the jungle, but at the limits of the forest she stopped - she had never gone in there and a cobra would probably bite her or a tiger would tear her in pieces, but even that seemed better than to go back - and there was only _him_. No, she would _never_ go back.

Stumbling over the ends of her _sari_ , with jingling beads at her neck and wrists, she pushed herself through the vegetation. Thorns scraped the beautiful fabric, but she didn't stop until she was very, very deep in the jungle, and failed to return.

She looked around. Yes, she would die there. It was as good a place as any. She hadn't heard of any woman left to starve or be devoured by wild beasts. Usually, the girls who shared her fate cast themselves into the river, into a well, or the pyre where their deceased husband was burning. But she, Radha, would die there.

She took some steps further. The jungle soon cleared, and to her surprise, there stood a temple. A sanctuary in ruins! That would be the perfect place to die. She went and knelt on the steps leading to the entrance.

Hindu women weren't allowed to enter the temples, so Radha bowed until touching her forehead to the ground and then looked at the carvings on the door. That temple was devoted to Durga, goddess of revenge, who was depicted riding on a tiger and wielding scimitars in her several arms. Radha clasped her hands and exclaimed: “Mother Durga! If I really deserve it, give me peace and revenge for the offense I received. Be kind and come to me or may death take me.”

Suddenly, she heard a sound inside the temple. Radha jumped up, terrified. When she thought it was a monkey or some other animal, a human figure came out of the darkness and in two strides stood before her. She was a woman. But she had never seen a woman like her.

Her skin was fair and her hair a lighter shade of brown, different from all the women there, and she didn't have clothes or _sari_ as all peasants, but four little pieces of fabric quite adjusted to her body, and high boots. She had a strange set of straps to her legs and carried a bundle on her back. She was also tall and strong, but what intimidated Radha were her eyes, limpid and challenging, full of fierceness and self-confidence more usual of men or, in any case, of the upper castes.

Radha immediately thought she was before a goddess, and therefore fell at her feet and touched the tips of her boots, as all low-casted people should do with their superiors. But the goddess took two steps back. “ _Namaste_.” She saluted. “I didn't know there were any peasants around here. What village do you come from?” She spoke _hindi_ perfectly, but with a strange accent Radha couldn't identify.

“From Kusuma Baradhji, lady.” She answered, without taking her forehead off the ground.

“That's some way off. Are you lost?”

“No, lady. I came here with a purpose.”

“This temple had been abandoned for years. Why did you come here?”

“To die, lady.” Radha said with dignity.

The goddess raised her eyebrows in surprise and then said: “Why do you stay bowed there?”

“You're a goddess. You came out of the temple when hearing my prayer. You’re Durga coming to take revenge on my enemies!”

Then the goddess threw her head back and began to laugh. Radha allowed herself to look up and saw her carefully placing the burden on her shoulder and running her hand through her hair, which was pulled into a long braid. “So Durga, huh?” She laughed again. “Durga has ten arms, wields scimitars and rides a tiger. I'm afraid I'm not as showy.”

“You're Durga.”  The girl insisted. “You've come from the temple.”

“I was just visiting it.” Answered the other with a twang of sarcasm.

“Women never enter the temple.”

“Oh, so what am I? A monkey?”

“You're a goddess, and so you live in the temple.”

The goddess who refused to be that laughed again. Her eyes glowed in fun. “Most people call me _Tomb Raider_ , which in my mother language means "grave robber". Some have called me _Amazon_ , which means warrioress. Almost all are devoted to drag my name through the mud, but I'd never met someone who's bent on deifying me. What's your name, child?”

“Radha.”

“Like Krishna's wife. You're the one who has a goddess' name.” Assuming that the chat was over, the woman bent to pick up the burden. Then Radha saw she was hurt. A trickle of blood went down her leg, an ugly cut in the upper thigh. Quickly she took a step and took the bundle, which was quite heavy, but she still swiftly carried it on her head. “Allow me, lady. I'll take it.”

She shrugged and pulled out a long machete, with which she began to break through the foliage. “Call me Lara.” She said.

 

* * *

 

It turned out that the goddess who claimed not to be so had her camp near. Seeing that place and the weapons she had, Radha began to wonder if perhaps Lara-Durga could be actually a _dacoit_ , a bandit. There the girl placed the bundle and Lara began to unwrap it carefully. After several padded coats a beautiful statue of Durga appeared, very small and made of ivory inlaid with precious stones. “I was told to recover it. I thought maybe it had been stolen a long time ago, but fortunately I was wrong.” She put the statue in a box and sealed it. Then she hid in her tent and sat down to heal the wound.

“How can you be hurt?”

“A blade grazed me. I'd have lost a leg, but I guess today was my lucky day.” She said that with the same insouciance and indifference as someone would speak about the weather. That shocked Radha, who hadn't heard of any temple with blades that hurt people. “This one had.” Lara said. “When a temple has something valuable inside, it defends itself against thieves.” The woman laughed sarcastically again, but Radha still didn’t understand. “Why did you seek death near Durga’s Temple?” She asked then.

The girl frowned. “I was fleeing from the _suttee_. My husband's dead and my mother-in-law wanted to burn me with him. But I didn’t want to, so she was about to shave my head and cast me out into the street. I'd rather starve in the jungle.”

“From which caste are you?” Lara continued, as if that story hadn't touched her at all.

“I'm an untouchable.”

That meant being an outcast at India. They weren't allowed to accept even a glass of water, and Radha was quite impressed that a person who seemed to belong to a higher caste was actually speaking to her, or even looking directly at her. “What's your caste?” The girl asked then.

“Oh, I'm high-born.” Lara replied, wincing. “Complete rubbish.”

That confused the girl even more. She began to believe that woman was crazy.

“How old are you, Radha?”

“Fourteen.”

Lara would've said twenty. That girl looked like a woman, but she was just a child, a girl matured early by blows and hardships. “You're coming with me. To England.” Lara said then.

“Me? But...”

“You don’t stand a chance. If you stay here you'll die, and if you go back to your people they will kill you. And I'm not so heartless as to leave you here...at least not yet.” She concluded with a smile.

Radha was again at the verge of Lara's feet, but the woman retained and sternly said: “Forget what you may have learned here. From now on I _don't_ want you crawling at the feet of anyone, least of all me, do you understand?”

“Yes, lady.”

“Don't ever call me _that!_ I'm not the lady of anyone. I'm simply Lara Croft.”

“Yes, lad...Lara.”

The woman nodded, satisfied, and she just bandaged her thigh. Then she leaned back in her hammock and closed her eyes.

Radha came to the conclusion that while not a goddess, this woman had come, in any case, in answer to her prayers.


	3. Bathsheba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image is a photography of Ayios Stefanos' monastery in Meteora (Greece), where the action takes place.

Meteora’s valley was plunged into silence, the winter cold scraping the rocks. At the top of one of them stood majestically the snow-capped monastery of Ayios Stefanos.

The _hegumenos_ went to the entrance to contemplate the vastness of the valley and brushed off some snowflakes from his dark robe. But he froze when noticing a figure, dressed in black and sitting patiently at the edge of the precipice.

“Who are you and why are you here?” He asked.

A soft, warm voice answered from the depths of the hood. “ _Geiá sou, patéras_. I've come on a pilgrimage from far away, looking forward to finding rest.”

The monk frowned. The fact that he lived in celibacy didn't stop him from recognizing the timbre of a female in that voice. “You're mistaken, my dear. Ayios Stefanos is not a center of pilgrimage. We don't allow tourists or visitors in, much less women.”

“You allowed one.” The voice _seemed_ to smile. “Two years ago, you opened the door to a woman. Where's Minos Axiotis?”

The monk was now stunned. How could she know...? “Our beloved _patéras_ passed away three months ago in odor of sanctity. Now I'm the new _hegumenos_. My name is Nikos Kavafis. What's yours, child?”

The figure stood up slowly and removed the hood covering her face. Then Nikos felt a strange burning sensation in the center of his chest, for before his eyes appeared the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

“Bathsheba.” She replied, dropping her long lashes. “My name's Bathsheba.”

It was the name of the temptress who had made King David fall into sin, so that didn't bring good omens. But the _hegumenos_ was unable to leave that beautiful creature at the entrance in such a cold night, as tired as she seemed to be.

While leading her to a free cell, he didn't stop scrutinizing her angelic-looking face. Two years ago, they had, in fact, tolerated Lara Croft's presence. The British explorer was a beautiful and fascinating woman, whose sharp tongue and sassiness had been too much for some monks. But that was far exceeded by Bathsheba, so sensual and disturbing that, in no way, he'd have her to be seen by any brother. Nikos wasn't as permissive as Minos had been, so he announced her she'd leave at dawn, without giving her time to talk. He closed and locked the cell door and went to pray at the church, trying to calm the fire consuming him at the very sight of that woman.

But he couldn't focus. When trying to fix his gaze on the Panagia's silver icon, her beatific face decayed and was replaced by the stunning image of Bathsheba’s limpid green eyes, and a very little Christian fragrance, the sweet aroma of lavender, wrapped him up in flooding his lungs.

 

* * *

 

The object of his desire still was in the cell. She got up slowly from the bed and walked to the door. It had been a while since the _hegumenos_ ’ steps were gone along the corridor.

She reached out the door and touched the doorknob. Indeed, the monk had locked her, but that didn't stop her. She touched the lock with the tip of her fingers and it melted like hot cheese. She opened the door and headed for the inner yard. The dark hair waved around and over her back. No need to cover: she didn’t fear being discovered - someone looking in her direction wouldn't see her, for she was now as ethereal and transparent as air.

She descended into the darkness of the crypt without being accompanied by any light. The darkness was her ally. She walked the aisles filled with old skulls without scaring herself by the presence of those who watched at her with empty sockets everywhere.

The Angels’ Oracle was silent and dusty. No one had gone down there since the Amazon summoned the celestial beings. But it wasn't dark, since the faint blue glow of the Periapt stained the frescoed vault in a silver tone, ranked by the severe archangel.

Bathsheba slightly touched the Periapt. For just a moment, she felt a fury indescribable towards the Amazon, _that_ Lara Croft, who not being more than an ordinary mortal-mill, by the designs of fate she had been worthy of talking with the angels. And she, she who was born of the same seed of an angel, she couldn't talk to those who were her equals!

She bit her lower lip, but then forced herself to calm down. She'd come for the Periapt. She took it in her hands, wrapped it in a fold of her dress and hurried.

“Stop!”

Bathsheba turned sharply. With the rage she'd experienced, her transparent shield had dissolved and now was clearly visible to the angry eyes of Nikos, who cut off her way. “How dare you, daughter of Satan, steal this precious relic? For this you've come! Give it back, it doesn’t belong to you.” He held out his arms towards the Periapt, but Bathsheba calmly went away. Nikos was still young and strong, and out of himself, violently grabbed the woman – almost experiencing a surge of satisfaction at seeing her lips half-opening in surprise because of his brutality. A strange scent wrapped him and almost made him lose his head, forgetting that he was a monk, torn between the rage for the Periapt's theft and the powerful attraction he felt towards her.

“Let me go.” She ordered, her voice soft but firm.

The _hegumenos_ , out of himself, grabbed the scrap of fabric where she had the Periapt hidden and brutally tore it, not knowing if what he wanted to see was the precious crystalline object or just her young skin.

She reacted by uttering a strange word. Suddenly, Nikos left out a heartbreaking scream that reverberated throughout the monastery. Almost all the monks jumped from their beds. The first one that came into the yard found a gruesome sight.

Nikos writhed on the floor at a woman's feet, throwing up bile, screaming in a language nobody could understand but that froze their blood. The woman, tall and with an overwhelming beauty, was holding the Periapt with her hands, and her long dress was slightly torn.

They didn't dare cross the threshold; since her frozen green eyes scared them and made them feel flooded with a strange scent of lavender floating in the air. But how could they possibly smell flowers...when it was winter?

Then she spoke in such a sweet and magical voice that dulled their senses: “He has just received the punishment for his lust. He won’t die, but only one man can now heal your _hegumenos_. You know him. He'd been here and was the one who killed my father. Tell him that his fight is not over.”

She turned, slowly walked away and disappeared between the columns, carefully holding the Periapt. No one could move until they lost her from sight completely.

 

* * *

 

Now that European police finally had stopped looking for her, Giselle could return to the Old World. And since the bases in Prague and Munich had been dismantled and closed, the few remains of the Cabal were now installed at the only place still not located: Moscow.

There were so few members left...the old Gertrude, the priestess who'd been intimate with Eckhardt in her youth and rejected by him as she aged; Adolf Schäffer, ex-mercenary of Gunderson, one of the few survivors of the Munich disaster, who now had taken the lead and assembled a new team of cutthroats; and the bald man, Hugh, who served as a spy.

They were the leaders, with a few dozen supporters. Yes, there were very few in comparison to what they had been under Eckhardt's aegis, but they now had Bathsheba, their _Lady_ \- the name "Mistress" had been dismissed as unsuitable for such a beautiful creature.

The other Cabal members hardly believed that Giselle might be able to create something so beautiful from her own experiments, her own genetic material mixed with a sample taken from Karel. Nobody would say such an embryo could go on, and nobody would've been as foolhardy as Giselle to implement it in her own uterus. Who knew that the result could have been something other than an abominable monster like her sister Kristina’s Proto-Nephilim?

But no. Bathsheba was just the opposite. In two years she had become a perfect looking woman, with even better intelligence. When being next to Giselle they seemed siblings more than mother and daughter. Giselle had always been a beautiful woman, but the beauty of her daughter darkened hers. However, that filled her with pride and like the rest of the Cabal members, she couldn't stop staring at her adoringly. She knew her daughter, more innocent than she actually seemed, involuntarily aroused fierce sexual instinct in men, but fortunately she had her own ways to protect herself from any abuse.

And she, Giselle, was the creator of this marvel, of that Nephilim more perfect than any thoroughbred angel!

_Ah, if Karel could've seen you...!_

If Karel could've seen her, he wouldn't have wasted his time looking for a chimerical prophecy. She, and not the Amazon, was to be the High Breed's mother.


	4. Memories In The Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing artwork by Adayka.

The British Museum was full of life and activity. However, it wasn't time for visits – as it was then ten at night. That night the museum held an academic conference for the most prestigious figures of archaeology and all sorts of historians. And for a good reason: Lara Croft had returned from India with the statue of Durga, and far from keeping it for herself, as rumoured by evil tongues, she'd kept her promise to donate it to the museum.

Everything was ready for the event. One of the rooms had been set up with a platform and a pulpit with microphone, in front of several rows of seats occupied by various celebrities who whispered to each other.

The whispers stopped as soon as the British Museum director came to the pulpit and turned on the microphone. “Good evening.” He said as an opening. “As you know, tonight we’re gathered here to witness one of the greatest donations to our museum in recent years. The statue of Durga was lost for years and many people assumed it was a non-existent treasure. Now we have it here, but it’s not me who will talk about this historical jewel. Ladies and gentlemen, here she is: Lady Lara Croft, Duchess of Saint Bridget.”

There was a round of applause.

 _Dammit_ , thought Lara as she climbed on stage with her most charming smile. She hated with all her forces to be called by her title, which sounded pompous and bombastic, lacking any personality. But it was a necessary evil she was forced to use in those high places, as the British aristocracy tolerated no commoners among their ranks.

When she got to the microphone, a horde of flashes almost blinded her. She heard murmurs and whispers as she was being analyzed in detail. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” She said cheerfully, still smiling, showing off her impeccable oratory. “I'm delighted to be here tonight.” She threw them a kind glance while thinking: _Hope you like what you see, you bunch of picky sycophants_.

Truth be told, her looks were captivating. Nobody knew for sure how old she was, but everyone agreed she was touching the forties. However, Lara seemed almost ten years younger, tall, beautiful, slim and lovely. That night she wore a blood red evening gown and her hair was piled on top of her head, with two small wavy tresses framing her face.

Lara was loved by many and hated by many others. The UK’s single aristocrats were still sticking to capture a minimum of her attention and it was said she received thousands of daily marriage proposals from around the world – and that she always rejected them all. Some paired her with that serious and mysterious man who'd been with her two years ago, during a trial for Werner Von Croy's murder on which she was the main suspect. But she hadn't been seen with him anymore, and she kept silent about that as with all personal aspects of her life.

“Well,” she continued. “As Jack the Ripper said, we’ll go by parts.”

There were some chuckles and many others felt shocked. Delighted with the fuss, Lara made a sign to a couple of workers who were ready to place an urn covered with a velvet curtain at her side. She approached and, removing the cloth, uncovered the beautiful statue and left them all silent.

“Flash photography is forbidden from now.” She sternly warned. “It could damage the statue. This is one of India's most beautiful pieces. According to ancient Sanskrit texts, this statue of Durga, goddess of war and revenge, was at one of Khajuraho's temples, built during the Chandella dynasty between 950 BC and 1050 AD. But the statue was stolen, probably by bandits, worshipers of the goddess, and hidden in a lost temple somewhere beyond Lucknow. I studied some maps and came to the conclusion that the temple should be there because it was a place where no one except the bandits would have dared to approach. I found the temple, and hidden in a false room, the statue."

If that fussy public expected some rough details about the dangers she'd faced, about potential enemies or traps harbored at that place, they were left unfulfilled, as Lara moved quickly to examine the statue.

“As you can see,” she said presenting it with a broad movement of her hand, “the fact that its value is incalculable is something obvious. The goddess is carved entirely out of pure ivory, opaque due to its age, while the tiger which she rides on is carved in mother-of-pearl. So these are two assembled parts. The tiger's eyes are rubies, and emeralds are the goddess'. The exquisite filigree which the clothes are carved in and trappings of Durga are dotted with small sapphires. The arms of the goddess seemed to have been broken down and reassembled with great success. Each scimitar-wielding arm is forged in gold. In fact, it’s a jewel of Indian art.”

After a murmur of approval, a new round of applause and a warm handshake by the satisfied Museum director, Lara prepared to leave the stage, but then she heard a voice saying: “What could you tell us about that little girl you’ve brought from India? Is she adopted?”

Lara frowned. Of course, it was a journalist gossip from the press. “Her name is Radha Deli, and she's not adopted.”

“Why then did you bring her? Would she not be claimed by anyone?”

“In India she'd achieved the status of a grown woman; and she’s a widow, so nobody will be interested in her.”

There were pleased murmurs. Lord Croft's daughter didn't know what to do to get attention. Now she devoted herself to rescuing Hindu widows from their doom!

“Some mouths have said she’s your daughter, born on your previous trips to India. Is that true?”

“Some mouths like yours, right?” Lara snapped, quite dry. “According to _these_ kind of mouths, Mr. Nobody, I've more than twenty children scattered throughout the world, and as many abandoned lovers.”

“But then...?”

“Another question like that, and I'll take no longer than five minutes to find out who you are and whom you work for. And once I find out, you won’t work as a journalist for the rest of your life.” The cold, sharp tone of Lara's voice silenced every murmur. The unfortunate journalist raised, red as scarlet, and left the room muttering incoherent excuses.

The tension in the atmosphere was dissipated when the director immediately adjourned, and then people moved to another room to dwell with a dance. Lara, though she was an excellent dancer, politely declined all offers by hopeful men, and went to one of the balconies to breathe and get rid of some of that stifling aristocratic atmosphere which chased her everywhere.

Selma Al-Jazeera was leaning against the railing. Lara leaned next to her.

The Turkish archaeologist had changed a lot. She was a pretty girl, with bronzed skin and dark eyes and hair, like most of Turks, and she'd become more cheerful and active, but the veil of sadness that clouded her eyes hadn’t withdrawn at all. The loss of her beloved ones and her work in Cappadocia was still a sorrow that corroded her inside.

“You've been wonderful.” She said with a twinkle in her sweet black eyes. “I love when you put those rabbles in their place.”

“Oh, well.” Lara said, making a fuss. “You know how those people are. They look at me drooling but deep down they're thinking: _Here goes that harlot Lara Croft! She lives like a thug while her family dies of shame_.”

“That's not true.” Protested Selma, who loved Lara. “And so what if it was? You're better than all of them together, with their titles and their armorial bearings. But let's leave this. You'll tell me where you got that girl.”

Lara thought for a moment. “I don't know why I brought her. I came across her and she was willing to let herself die. Some people there are like that, they say it as if it was a joke but if you lose sight of those, they soon are already dead. I guess if I had left her, she would now be dead, or would've been found by her people and be given a worse death.”

“Poor child!” lamented Selma. “Sometimes I think I'm very lucky.”

Lara looked at the moon, absent. She thought to entrust Radha’s custody to some institution - since she hardly saw herself taking care of her, and she barely heard what Selma said about women's abuse in different parts of the world. After a while, however, these words got her out of her reverie: “Haven't you seen him again?”

“Huh? Who?”

“Don't play dumb with me, Lara. You know. _Him.”_ Selma exhibited a mischievous smile. The Turkish woman was a hopeless romantic and she enjoyed trying to coax from Lara what she meant to hide.

“No. I haven't seen nor heard anything about him.” She replied, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

“It's been two years, Lara. Two years! Seems like yesterday when Meteora's monks brought him to me, wounded and burning with fever. What do you think happened to him?”

“I don't know. I haven't even asked myself about that,” Lara lied, rather willing to be slapped before recognizing she hadn’t spent a single day without thinking of him, and sometimes even dreaming of his mischievous smirk and his piercing blue eyes. “He surely has forgotten about me. He'd too many problems and concerns.” She shrugged, as if she didn't care, then turned and left the balcony. She didn't want to talk about him.

Selma's last words came to her mixed with the rhythm of a waltz: “I _don't_ think so!”

 

* * *

 

Marie Cornel went to the courtyard and shaded her eyes with one hand. Mexico's blazing sun fell without mercy on the dark and leathery skin of the Navajo woman.

Marie was close to sixty, but nobody would've said she was an old woman. The long hair, which in her youth was black as a raven's wing, was now streaked with silver strands, but her body was still slim and firm, because of having spent most of her life fleeing to save both her and her child’s life in a tireless pursuit.

Living such a hard way, toughened by suffering, continuous risk and fears, with nothing but her own instinct inherited from her Navajo tribe. Marie Cornel, wife of a Lux Veritatis and mother of a Lux Veritatis, had survived when the War of the Shadows had swept away the entire Order and their families. And she'd made it because by being the only one with the courage to separate from the man she loved, hoping to give her child a chance. Others were afraid, remained with their people...and died with them. Not Marie. She fled and kept on running away, as her child grew up and became strong, in the same way she'd learned to harden in order to not succumb to pain and despair.

She sighed and shook her head to ward off dire thoughts. She shouldn't feel sorry for herself; she was the lucky one, not like those who'd died. “What do you see, Kurtis?” she murmured with a smile.

In the center of the courtyard was a man in his thirties, crouched next to a motorcycle, dirty with motor oil and a wrench in his hand. Upon hearing the familiar question, totally a slogan for him, he turned to Marie and growled: “I see a damn engine pissing me off.”

She laughed and sat on the porch top step, playing with the dreamcatcher hanging from her neck. “I don't know what you see in this hellish machine...doesn't give you nothing but trouble.”

“Black horses are not fashionable anymore, so I've to make do with this.” He replied sarcastically, getting up and wiping the dirt on his pants.

Two years ago he'd returned and released Marie from her long captivity, not as real as a mental one, an obsessive idea to run and hide from an enemy that no longer existed, that wouldn't chase her anymore. Then Marie discovered she had got used to living in hiding, mixed with people of her tribe in an unpleasant reserve. Reintegrating into the world had been difficult and somehow she was still a lonely soul, so lonely and closed off to the outside as her son was. In those two years Marie had established herself at that _rancho_ in Mexico and was engaged in cattle breeding and being a healer and midwife for the locals, who respected and loved her. Kurtis visited her at times, but never stayed for long. Marie never spoke of him to anyone and for the rest of the world it was like he didn't exist. There was no physical resemblance between mother and son, and therefore nobody could relate them. He truly resembled his father.

“When will this end, Kurtis?” She sighed, again discouraged. “For years you hadn't been in peace. Did you seriously plan to kill all the demons in the world? Even by living a hundred lives you couldn’t make it. When will you rest?”

“When dead and buried.” That was his dry response.

Marie got up and approached him. He was again focused on the engine. “I've had enough with losing your father, and I didn't even have a body to bury.” She said with a steady voice. “I did _not_ fight for years to protect you from the Cabal so that you can now ruin your life in a struggle that has no end. The debt to your father is more than paid off; you killed his murderer and ended the Cabal. That should be enough.”

Kurtis didn't answer, and Marie knew she wouldn’t make him talk. He'd always been frugal to talk and when he insisted on not doing it, he was like a brick wall.

“Where are you going this time?” She tried again.

“New York. The press reported strange creatures in the sewers and some petrified corpses have been found.”

“Basilisks?” She suggested.

Kurtis shook his head. “Basilisks wouldn't leave the sewers to hunt, even at night. The attacks were deliberate. It's a Gorgon.”

“A Gorgon!” Marie gasped. “It's too dangerous!”

“If I don't find her before others, it will be a mess. Also, you know I've dealt with worse. Well,” he happily announced, rising and dropping the wrench, “this is it. Let's not wait any longer for that damned Gorgon.” He put his arms into a barrel of water and washed his face.

“Y'know? Lara Croft has appeared on television today.” If Marie expected some reaction from her son, she was disappointed. Kurtis kept on by washing himself as if he'd heard nothing. “She seems to have returned from her travels with a statue. I heard a story about the recent donation to the British Museum. She's such an extraordinary woman. The Amazon's prophecy could've only been referring to her, since it was amazing how...”

Kurtis turned slowly, grinning, halfway between weariness and sarcasm. “Please, _mother.”_ He said, emphasizing the last word. “Tell me what you’re getting at or I’ll die of curiosity. And that would be a shame, after all I've survived.”

Marie sighed. How well he knew her. “You’re like your father. He might have had as many women as he wanted, but he only loved one. And even if you're not an expert in giving details, I know you still remember her. I don't know how you could...” She hesitated.

“Let her go?” Kurtis finished the sentence.

She said nothing. She had noticed in his voice a dangerous tone.

“Can't believe you’re telling me that at this point.” He said. “You abandoned my father to save my life and you didn't see him again for years.”

“I did it because the Cabal was attacking our beloved ones to torment the Order’s members, as you well know! I had to leave him to avoid them hurting him through us. But I never, _never_ stopped loving him.”

“Well, that's why I want Lara away from this. I won't ever have peace, you know.” Marie lowered her head when he said that. “She'd already done too much for me. She doesn't deserve what I’m going through every day.”

“So I ask you to leave this way of life.”

He shook his head, smiling bitterly. “Already tried that, remember? The Legion. And yet there _they_ came for me and you know I'm _not_ talking about the Cabal. They won’t leave me until I die.” And throwing the rag he had been using to dry his wet hair, he went inside, slamming the door.


	5. The Periapt Shard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image is a sketch of concept art from Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness, depicting one of the three Periapt Shards.

Winston quietly passed the cloth along the dusty shelf and glanced towards the window. Lara was out footing around the green hills of Surrey. It was an appropriate time for the butler to quench his curiosity.

He touched the thick History books until he found a tiny portfolio. He pulled it out and settled into a nearby chair behind while he began delightfully observing the sketches.

That old Irish man had taken care of Lara since she was a child, but only when he was widowed he'd gone to live with her, to look after her property when she was absent on long trips. Those who believed that Winston Smith was just a butler for Lara Croft were wrong.

Although in their daily treatment nothing other than a formal relationship could be noticed between the butler and the housemistress, only intimate people knew that the old man had been like a father to Lara when Lord Henshingly had disowned her. And Lara had the greatest affection for Winston, her housekeeper, yes, but also father who never scolded and friend who never failed her.

So Winston was browsing those sketches with genuine affection. Some depicted horrifying creatures, which fascinated him despite their looks. He knew about each of them, for between Lara and Winston there were barely any secrets...at least in that kind of matter. However, the butler had a special predilection for those drawings in which Lara appeared in different poses: smiling, scowling, defiant, and surprised. He touched those silent offerings of love which conveyed more than words.

But the man who'd drawn those sketches was gone and his memory weighed like lead in those silent rooms. His name wasn't pronounced, nor was he alluded to, not because it was expressly forbidden, but because his mere memory clouded Lara's eyes with a veil of sadness and anger. Therefore, Winston took advantage of the explorer’s absences to look at the drawings.

He patted the corner of a sketch where Lara was lying on a bed and dressed in a sort of black robe, and he couldn't help but smile to see how the artist had managed to capture Lara's face as only him had seen her for years: asleep.

“Winston! What are you doing?”

The old man jumped up and the drawings scattered to the floor. At the door was Lara, dressed in a tracksuit and soaked in sweat, staring at him with a surprised expression.

How long had he been looking at the sketches? He didn't know. Blushing to his ears and muttering unintelligible excuses, Winston rushed to collect the sheets.

“No, don't bend over. I'll do it.” She said, and immediately picked up the drawings, giving them a brief look as she got them. And again there was that shadow of sadness in her irritated eyes.

“I’m sorry, miss.” Winston muttered, but she didn't answer. She handed him the sketchbook and turned stiffly, leaving the room.

The butler, cursing himself for having upset her, followed her by fits and starts and said: “By the way, miss, tonight is the gala dinner of the archaeologists who work in the exhibition.”

Lara stopped at her room threshold, and said with obvious annoyance: “Wow. I forgot about that. Selma must be called and…”

“Miss Al-Jazeera has been duly informed by me, miss.”

“Thanks, Winston. By the way, what dress do you advise for me? The long red one or the black one with cuts on the hips?”

“You already used the red one for the British's presentation. People would say you've no more dresses.”

She laughed. “Seriously, I don't know what I'd do without you. Lately, I’m quite lost.”

Lara went into the bathroom to have a shower, but Winston didn't withdraw from the room, although he sat away from the door to respect her privacy. “There's something I wanted to say, miss.”

“Tell me.” She said as she stripped from her tracksuit.

“I've been thinking a lot, miss, and I’ve concluded I'm too old and very tired.”

“Don’t tell me more.” Lara said, poking her head. “I was afraid of that. You want to go back to Ireland, huh? If it's about being back at your homeland...”

“No, miss.” He smiled. “Sometimes I miss my country but I really don’t want to leave this place. I'll only return when I’m to be buried alongside my dear wife, who has long been waiting for me.”

“So?” Lara had got under the shower.

“Miss, I'm already very old and I won't live forever. I feel my end is very near.”

“Winston! Aren’t you in a fatalistic mood!” She said with affectionate irony, though she knew he was being honest.

“I’m eighty-three years old, miss. And I keep thinking that when I’ll be dead, you’ll be left completely alone.”

The shower faucet closed and Lara came out with a bathrobe and head wrapped in a towel. She was smiling. “My dear octogenarian, I don't know what you’re getting at.”

“What I mean, miss,” he hesitated, “is that maybe you should get married.”

Lara looked at him, stunned and speechless. Then she said: “Oh, no, Winston! _Not_ you too!”

“You know I don't mean that in the sense your father the lord said this. Nor as the gossip columns mean to say.”

“But the meaning is the same! Winston, please, telling me _that_ at this point.” Her wet hair came loose and she began to brush it. “You know I'm not _that_ kind of woman!”

“Well then, have a child.”

Lara froze again with the brush held up, and looked at the butler as if he was a monster. “Did you remember to take your medication?”

“Yes, miss.” He said humbly.

“Well then, this is serious! Who put such nonsense into your head? Please! Have you looked at me, Winston?”

 _Of course I've seen thee well, my child_ , thought the old man, _I've spent years looking at you, since you were very small, and have kept your image my whole life._ “Miss, you're about forty years...”

“Thirty-six!” Lara shouted, shocked.

“Well, thirty-six.” Winston’s tone remained calm. “So you should start thinking about what to do with the rest of your life. I'll die soon and you have friends, but nobody to be with you and make you happy. Think again. There must be a man you may love. And if you don’t want to tie yourself to a man, at least have a child. At this time, you may believe you’re eternal and independent, but it’s very sad to age and die without anyone by your side. I leave you, then, with your conscience.” Having said this, he rose and with a solemn nod he left the room and closed the door.

Lara shook her head, too shocked to say anything. She approached the mirror and kept brushing her hair, but soon she left the brush and examined her face in the mirror, looking for any signs of ageing, a wrinkle, a grey hair, whatever. But the woman who stared back at her was still young, with firm and smooth skin, bright hair, her eyes sparkling with life. There was no flaw or a sign of aging.

Instinctively she opened the towel and dropped it down to see her naked body. Everything was as usual, her strong and muscular legs, narrow waist, flat stomach, perky breasts and proud shoulders. For Lara Croft the years weren't passing, as if her life had stopped in the prime of life to perpetuate her youth forever. “It's in my mind where I see signs of aging.” She said to her reflection. “I'm tired and my head is full of warps.”

She sighed and put on the black dress. She knew that deep down, her old butler was right. And she was so tired...but her body was still young and energetic, ready to go on as usual.

 

* * *

 

The Exhibition of Archaeology was actually a series of lectures about recent discoveries given over that week, and were closed that night with a gala dinner. Lara did attend them not because she liked the pomp, but because it was a unique opportunity to reconnect with old friends, who used to be scattered around the world. So, Lara was greeting with multiple languages to different personalities from the world of archaeology, followed at a safe distance by Selma, who was also much needed and welcomed by her work in the Middle East.

“Well, Croft, I won’t know what to do if you keep showing yourself so prettily!” Who had spoken was no one other than Charles Kane, who came to her and kissed her fraternally.

“What are you doing here?” Lara said. “I thought you hated social events.”

“You hate them too and here you are.” He guffawed. “How are things going? I guess you’re as stubborn as ever. I've been told about that Indian girl. Seriously, what _on earth_ were you thinking?”

“Stop it!” She laughed. “You'd have done the same.”

“You're senile, Lara! I see now in you, unknown motherly feelings...maybe I’ll see you soon working on missions with the Sisters of Charity...”

“C'mon, shut up and get me a glass of champagne.”

Charles bowed mockingly and went in search of the waiter. Lara looked around distractedly. And then she saw the woman.

She was younger than her, more or less Selma's age. She was standing across the crowded room and wearing a silvery dress which framed her graceful and sinuous shape. Beside those small breasts and arms and legs so smoothly formed, Lara seemed much more robust and muscular in comparison. Her skin was so white it seemed transparent, her veins visible, and her hair tied in a bun was so black it had a bluish tone. The nose was straight and her lips pink. However, she seemed not to have them painted – she didn't leave a trace on the rim of the cup from which she sipped.

But what bothered Lara wasn’t that she found not even the slightest imperfection in that beauty. What bothered her was that she didn’t stop looking at her constantly with her green eyes, shining with a coolness strangely familiar to her.

“Here you are.” Charles said, putting a glass in her hand. “Hey, why so serious? One would think you saw a ghost.”

“That woman!” Lara whispered, and took the cup to her lips as she turned quietly to the window.

Although the hall was crowded with well-dressed women, Charles didn't need any further indication to find her. And then she saw a strange change in the man's face. “God!” He gasped, breathless. “I’ve never seen a woman like that!”

Lara coughed uncomfortably. “Yes, she’s very attractive.”

“Attractive is _not_ the word. Oh, sorry, I'm behaving like a cad. Let's say you yourself are _so_ beautiful you hardly see the beauty elsewhere.”

“Don’t try to fix it now. I didn't mean she's pretty. I meant she won’t stop looking at me.”

“Well, now that you mention it...yeah. Don’t know why. Maybe she’s jealous. Poor girl's not very gifted in bra size.”

Lara looked at him speechless. That was _not_ usual in him. “Charles, stop talking nonsense. I don’t like how she looks at me. What does she want?”

She felt upset by her friend’s attitude, who was speaking to her but he simply could _not_ take his eyes away from the other girl, sweating profusely. He seemed completely mesmerized. “You have the chance to find out, Lara. She’s coming here.”

She turned and, in fact, that beauty was approaching with a gentle sway of the hips. The chill was gone and she now displayed a sweet smile, exposing a series of small pearly white teeth. “Miss Croft?” She said with a beautiful _alto_ voice.

“One and the same.” Lara replied, suddenly wrapped in a mysterious lavender scent. She glanced at Charles, but he looked at the woman completely absorbed and enthralled, with a strange expression on his face...

Seriously, _what the hell_ happened with him?

“Such an honor to meet you!” Exclaimed the other with hardly raising her voice, and shook her hand warmly. The touch was warm and soft, like everything in that woman.

She was perfect. Far too perfect. And it was in a matter of seconds Lara figured out that virtually all the men in the room looked at her with the same stupid face as Charles did.

“Who do I have the honour to meet?” Lara said, barely letting go her hand.

“Excuse my rudeness. My name's Bathsheba.”

Of course, someone _so_ perfect could only have a name out of the ordinary, and so Lara said as much.

“Oh, it was my mother’s whim.” She smiled. “Bathsheba is an ancient Hebrew name and means "the desired one". According to the biblical Book of Kings, she was the wife of Uriah, a lieutenant of King David. The king fell in love with her because of her beauty after seeing her bathing, and therefore he ordered she must be immediately delivered to him...”

“I know _exactly_ who the Hebrew Bathsheba was, thanks.” Lara cut off, irritated. Who did she think she was, being so presumptuous?

Bathsheba dropped her thick eyelashes. “You’re right. It’s not my business to tell Lara Croft what any historian or archaeologist should know, of course?”

She seemed to have read _her_ mind, and that made Lara feel even more uncomfortable. The British explorer put her glass to her lips and threw a furtive glance at her interlocutor. Up close she was even more beautiful, like a Renaissance _Madonna_. Any kind of jewellery or make-up would have marred her, and therefore she displayed a completely bare face. And whence came that fresh aroma of lavender that began to dizzy her?

“I hadn't heard of you.” Lara said then. “And yet you must have some relevance to have been invited to this dinner, unless you’re an escort.”

She had just returned the offense. The so-called "escorts" were luxury prostitutes hired to serve as partners in social events. They were invited to parties to serve as ornamentation, noted for their beauty and no less by their obvious ignorance, as many women who were there.

However, if Bathsheba took the hint, of course she showed no offense, as she exhibited a diaphanous smile while saying: “Oh, no! I come from a family business dedicated to deal with artwork. Now I continue my father's work. I must say I'm a big fan of your work and I've auctioned some of your findings...”

Lara looked back at Charles while the beautiful unleashed her flattery. The man breathed as if he was gasping for air and looking at her with a face full of complete idiocy. Lara put her hand on her temple, stunned by the sweet scent given off by the other.

“... And it's precisely for this reason I come to make you a proposal.”

Lara set new attention on her interlocutor. “And what could an art dealer want from me?”

“I'm interested in purchasing one of your artefacts.”

That wasn't a strange offer. Lots of people proposed that to her more often than not, although she usually didn't sell anything. She used to hold the dangerous or controversial artefacts in her house, such as the Iris or a T-Rex head, which in the wrong hands could bring problems, and therefore she protected them under a rudimentary but ingenious security system, not easily accessible even for her. Instead, concerning harmless artefacts as Durga’s statue itself, she didn't hesitate in donating them or putting them for sale.

“And in what artefact are you interested?”

Bathsheba became pensive. “Let's see...its exact name is unknown to me but I've no doubt you're the owner...it's a dagger, a sort of very steely blade…”

“I’m sorry.” Lara was quick to interrupt. “But the Dagger of Xian is not for sale and never will be, as I stated publicly when I brought it from China some years ago.”

The beauty laughed quietly. “Oh, but I don’t mean the Dagger! I wouldn't even dream to reclaim that jewel, especially since you made it clear you wouldn't sell it after it being so difficult for you to recover yourself.”

“I've no other artefact which can even resemble a knife.”

“But, Miss Croft, I'm surprised! Did you get rid of it? I refer to a device certainly less valuable than the Dagger, but also exquisite. As I said, it is a steely knife carved completely in some kind of glass, curve shaped with a face carved into the handle...” She stopped talking when Lara's sharp eyes pierced her. The British explorer reddened as if being slapped, abruptly handed the cup to the stunned Charles (who almost threw it) and gripping Bathsheba's arm, dragged her almost to the balcony.

“But...Miss Croft!” She said, confused, drifting without resistance.

Lara confronted her and approached her face so near to hers that the other could feel her breath. “Let's face it.” She muttered. “You can’t fool me with your Victorian manners. Do you _really_ think I'm stupid?”

“Miss Croft!” She exclaimed, scandalized.

“The artefact you mentioned hasn't been made public. In any case, selling it to people like _you_ is the last thing I’ll do in this world. So I'll see myself forced to suggest you forget about the subject.”

“But...”

“ _But_ you can’t prove the existence of this blade. You better move on because I won't sell it. You better not insist in that if you don’t want to regret it.”

Bathsheba looked at her with wide eyes, more surprised than frightened, and that was _a lot_ of courage on her part, since most people became terrified when Lara spoke in that tone to one’s face. Turning round, the explorer left the balcony.

The beautiful lady remained motionless just for a moment. Then, she outlined an ambiguous smile and whispered as she turned to a ring on her finger: “I'm afraid, Miss Croft, I’m _disinclined_ to acquiesce to your request.”

 

* * *

 

“I want to know _immediately_ the truth!” In a rage, Lara was spinning around the room at Croft Manor, while Selma and Charles, sitting in armchairs, looked at her dumbfounded.

The Turkish archaeologist pursed her lips and said: “That's the truth. I said nothing about that.”

“Someone must have spilled the beans! Unless I've been robbed or my inventory checked, and I assure you that's not been exposed to the public, it's impossible she could have heard about it!”

“Well, _certainly_ it wasn't me.” Selma said again, offended. “I'm not the only one who knows the existence of the Shard. Jean also knows, and Vlad, Winston, now Charles…and Kurtis.”

Lara froze when she heard the last name, or so it seemed to Charles. “Jean never goes out of Egypt and he barely talks to anyone other than his workers. It must have been that babbler Ivanoff...”

“What's up with this guy, Kurtis?” Charles asked, but he received no response. Selma was the one who said: “Nothing is known of him. Anyway, it's a man whom would be easier to rip out his soul than to make him tell something he wants to keep secret.”

“God.” Murmured Charles. “You’ve intrigued me.”

A flash of irritation crossed Lara's eyes, as always happened when she heard about Kurtis, but she kept the cold face and pretended to not have heard anything. “Winston!” She exclaimed.

The butler appeared at the moment - he had the bad habit of listening through doors, as she well knew, and was quick to guess: “Miss, I assure you I've nothing to do with...”

“My dear old silly! Have I ever distrusted you? What I wanted to ask you is to put me in contact with Ivanoff as soon as possible.”

The old man smiled and left the room.

Charles turned then to Lara and said: “Well, I still don't get why you’re so angry.”

Selma was quick to intervene: “Two years ago, a man named _Kurtis Trent,”_ she emphasized his name as she looked bitterly at Lara, “had three very valuable daggers known as the Periapt Shards. But he risks death in his way of life, so he chose three people he trusted and gave a Shard to each one, to avoid them fall into the wrong hands. To the three Shards keepers he made swear not to tell anyone about them. Lara and me were chosen, and concerning the third person...”

“His mother. He handed the third Shard to his mother.” Lara said, a bit calmer now.

Charles nodded. “And if that woman has offered to buy your Shard it’s because someone has spilled the beans.”

“Yes, but in fact there's much more.” Continued Lara. “We might be in danger, because we neither know who this woman is nor whom she works for. Nobody is interested in a simple crystal carved knife. She wants something more.”

“Don’t tell me.” Charles said, mocking. “It's magic, isn't it?”

Lara smiled wryly. “Perhaps.”

 


	6. The Gorgon

Zip yawned, bored, took off his headphones and dropped them on his laptop keyboard, while stretching ominously. It was shortly past midnight, and the hacker was in the New York City sewers, under the foundations of a department building making some of his usual trouble.

Since he'd been fired from VCI, the African-American man - only known by his code name – he had been dedicated to fulfilling small computer revenges in exchange for money. That night a colleague had paid him to disrupt that company’s database, responsible for the monopoly that had sunk his own business.

For Zip it was a piece of cake to get the password and introduce a deadly virus developed by himself, which he'd named _Leviathan_. Now he could pick up his materials and leave happily. Tomorrow morning all the employees would find a comical screen message announcing that all their database files and accounting records had passed away.

_Too easy_ , he thought with contempt, and began to collect his materials.

He reversed the path he’d taken in the dark sewers. However, he hadn't gone more than twenty yards when he stopped at seeing the distant glimpse of a flashlight beam. _Shit_ , he thought, and immediately extinguished the small LED light that served him as a guide. _Who the hell's there?_

But whoever he was, he didn't move, standing still. In the end, tired of waiting, Zip approached quietly, fearing it could be a trap. The more he approached, the more he realized that something was really wrong. The beam became more and more intense, but didn't moved an inch. Neither did the person who held it.

Zip almost jumped back when seeing it was a policeman. But he wasn't moving. Feeling increasingly confused, he stood at his side. And when he looked at him closely, a chill went down his spine.

The man's face was frozen in a hideous _rictus_. His eyes were bulging, his jaw dislocated, his mouth open in a failed scream. And the whole body was just as rigid as his face.

“Hey!”  Zip nervously shouted, moving his hand before his eyes. “Hey, man! Hey! Wake up!”

The police remained motionless. Zip tried to snatch the flashlight from his hand, but the fingers were so stiffly fixed he could barely move them.

“The hell is going on here?” He muttered, increasingly nervous. He put his hand on the policeman’s shoulder and shook him slightly.

Then the body rocked back and began to fall. The hacker tried to hold him, but it slipped and, upon impacting with the ground, he could plainly hear how it broke every bone in his body, but not with the typical opening crack, but a kind of pop, as if filled with crystals. As if he'd burst into pieces on the very inside.

Zip’s knees buckled and he leant against the wall to avoid falling. The laptop slipped from his grasp and crashed to the ground. The dim light of the lantern flickered and died.

Suddenly he heard a strange sound. First he thought it was a murmur, then a hiss. Thousands of hisses. As if hundreds of tiny snakes were hissing in that thick darkness. The hisses became louder and clearer. And then a female voice, also hissing, overcame that ophidian concert and whispered: “Come, cute boy, let me look at you...”

Zip shuddered and cried out involuntarily. _Run, dammit!_ cried a voice in his mind, _Run!_

Meanwhile, the creature had come to his side and whistled softly: “Cute boy, look at me, let me see you with my eyesssss...”

A hot breath fell on his neck. He was almost deafened by the multiple hisses while he noticed long, cold fingers creeping down his throat...

Finally, he found the strength to run. Letting out a cry, he turned away from _that thing_ and started running down the drain, blinded by fear and lost, while the snake hissing was chasing him...

 

* * *

 

“Damn him.” Kurtis muttered, hiding in the dark. That damned guy had ruined his plans. He intended to use himself as bait to lure the Gorgon, but when he managed to make her follow him, suddenly the guy appeared. And after he'd been seen by the monster, he'd started to run, pushing the prey away.

He let out a sigh and went after them. Maybe if he surprised her from behind, entertained as she was with her new prey, it would be easier to finish her. Leaving behind the policeman’s crushed body, he went ahead, feeling the walls as he ran, hoping that foolish guy would not venture out of the sewers, leading the Gorgon out on the streets. If that happened, the _real_ problems would have just begun. Under no circumstances she should be noticed by anyone. By _anyone_.

Since the existence of demons - the generic name with which the evil creatures to be eliminated were called by Kurtis - was something to hide. Of course, there had always been leaked rumours, legends, and great myths, but nobody could prove it since the elimination of the evidence was another fundamental obligation for the Lux Veritatis, and so was to silence witnesses.

That meant, if the Gorgon failed to kill Zip with her withering gaze, Kurtis would be, as always had been, forced to kill the witness.

 

* * *

 

Zip grabbed the manhole cover with both hands and pulled, trembling in panic. He climbed into the enclosure, which proved to be the basement of the building, and hid among some cardboard boxes. He no longer thought of his broken laptop or police catching him. He just wanted to save his life.

The ophidian whistle, loud and constant, again filled the small room. Zip began to retreat, crawling on all fours, covered in sweat.

“Cute boy...” Hissed the Gorgon. “Come with me...” Suddenly, the whispers ceased. Even the last snake remained silent. Then he heard the creature turning sharply to the manhole cover and hissing: “ _You!_ Veeeritaaaatisssss maaaaaggooot!”

As if it was an invocation, suddenly Zip glimpsed a heavily built figure pouncing on the Gorgon who, enraged, started screaming and hissing. The narrow room was dark - dimly lit by emergency light - and wedged against the wall unable to move, Zip saw two confusing shadows fighting each other.

The Gorgon hissed angrily, squirming like an eel and fighting with teeth and nails, attacking the man who tried to get rid of her and knocked her over. The creature bit him again and again in the arms and dug her nails into his face, trying to turn his face towards her, while he struggled to keep his sight away from her. “Look at me, basssstard!” She yelled. “Look at me!”

Zip looked around, feeling he needed to do something. He saw a fire extinguisher near the wall and, after hesitating he got up, ran towards it and unhooked it from the wall. Although his legs were shaking, he ran to where they were, and lifting the heavy fire extinguisher, dropped it with all his strength on the Gorgon’s head.

Although the cluster of snakes which made up the strange hairstyle on the Gorgon’s head cushioned the blow, the impact was strong enough to momentarily stun the creature, which the man took to get rid of her and threw her down. Instantly, Zip, still close, heard a metallic click and saw five blades shining in the gloom.

Apparently, the Gorgon sensed she was in danger, for she tried to get up, but the man stepped on her stomach to keep her on the floor. As driven by a spring, the horrible creature rose and sank her teeth into his leg, but the attempt proved to be fatal. In a split second the man grabbed her snake-crowned head and slit her neck with one blow. There was a thud when her head hit the floor, and then the hisses faded.

For a moment, all that Zip could hear was his own strong heartbeat; whose sound _must_ be reaching the other end of the world, and the man's breathing. At last he heard his voice, in a deep tone: “Turn on the light.”

Zip moved his trembling hand around the wall until he found the switch and activated it. He almost passed out when _that_ gruesome scene appeared before his eyes.

On the floor laid the naked body of a woman. Well, it _seemed_ a woman but her skin was scaly and completely grey and waxy like a corpse, her forms were bony and angular and the blood on which she lay had a blackish colour.

A pretty beefy man in his thirties was still astride the body and held her severed head against the floor, waiting for the jerky movements of the small snakes to cease. Then he stood up slowly, holding the head which rocked with the movement. The Gorgon had a reptilian face with yellow eyes, which had lost their power to kill. His attitude reminded Zip of a sculpture he'd seen on TV, Perseus with Medusa's head. But this man was very different from the Greek hero.

The man snorted, threw the severed head down and picked up the strange weapon with which he'd decapitated her. The beast had defended herself vigorously. His hands and arms were covered in bloody bites, his shirt was almost shredded and his face was streaked with scratches and cuts. He didn't seem to care about that more than the leg, bloodstained through his pants. He bent down and touched it, making a gesture of pain. However, Zip noticed that he remained stiff, his face alert, looking at him with his blue eyes. The scared hacker wondered if he'd fallen out of the frying pan into the fire.

“What was that?” Zip faltered at last, looking at the head lying at his feet. “A Medusa?”

“Don’t know if her name was Medusa.” Replied the other, wincing as he settled on his injured leg. “As for the species, she was a Gorgon.”

The computer whiz would've never said _that_ monster could have any name. “I guess I should thank you...” He began.

“Don't.” The other cut off. “You knocked her off. Also, you won’t be so grateful after all this is over.”

Zip noticed a cold sweat running down his back. He didn't get what he meant. He tried to swallow but found his throat dry as stony ground. “What do you mean?”

“Shut up and help me hide this.”

 

* * *

 

_He's gonna kill me. When least expected...he'll behead me with that chopper. He’s a psycho!_

Zip was stumbling down the drain, painfully dragging a bag containing the Gorgon's body and head. The "psycho" was behind him, alert, looking around, and illuminating him with the flashlight. He was limping slightly because of his injured leg.

“Can’t go anymore, man.” Zip snorted, no longer feeling his arms. “Won't drag this thing anymore.”

The man peered around and said: “Throw it to that pit.”

Zip dragged the body to the hole's edge and pushed it with a kick. Several seconds passed until he heard a "plop" from the bottom. He remained there trembling, waiting to feel the cold steel barrel on his neck. That man would shoot him and he'd fall headlong into a black abyss, to rot with that Gorgon forever... And nearly fainted when noticing something on the neck - it wasn't an icy gun barrel, but a warm hand that pulled him back.

“Move aside, puppy,” a sarcastic voice said, “or you'll fall to the bottom.” He released him, turned and limped away. He was still displaying a cynical smile. Was he playing with him? “You hear that?” He said suddenly.

Zip acute his hearing. And then he heard sirens and voices in nearby tunnels. “Shit! The cops!”

“That cop you’ve shattered surely called for aid before our friend petrified him. Now they must have active patrols in the area and the tunnels – and maybe the whole area is cordoned off.” The hacker asked himself what he was going do with that Van-Helsing-like adventurer. As he followed him, the other said: “Now show me the area where you came in from and we’ll try our chances.”

Zip then had a hint of defiance and said: “Why? So you can kill me after? Hell no!”

The man turned round so suddenly that he collided with Zip. His blue eyes sparkled. “Real nice, you _moron_. Ruin your only chance to escape from here. Cuz if you piss me off I’ll leave you here. You’re a hacker, right? I've seen your computer and your mark. Doesn’t take a genius to know when those cops get their hands on you, you’re gonna spend the next twenty years watching the sun through bars. Is it what you want?”

Zip didn't answer.

“Good boy. Now show me where you entered.”

He'd no choice but to guide him through the sewers, his common field of action. They began walking hurriedly and ran away as the voices sounded closer. Zip almost felt satisfaction in thinking that running would be a real torture for the other’s injured leg.

“Fuck!” Shouted Zip slowing down. There were lights in front of the tunnel. “Road's over, man! Wait...over here!”

They got into another bend and came to a dead end tunnel. A manhole cover lead to the outside, but after forcing it a few moments, the burly gasped: “It's sealed with concrete!”

Zip let out another curse and looked back. The crowns of headlights were approaching. “We gonna get caught, man! Unless you shoot ‘em...”

The other drew back, without looking away from the manhole cover: “Not if I can avoid it.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and stretched out his arms.

“What are you doing, man!” Zip gasped. “Ain’t no time for _yoga...!”_

There was a brutal _pop_ and the manhole cover jumped up, shattering the concrete seal and causing a noise like an explosion.

“ _What the fuck...!!”_ Zip howled, falling on his ass to the floor, staring in horror at the huge hole in the concrete.

“Let’s move.” The other said as if it was nothing, and pushed upwards. The hacker followed him, took his hand held out to him and took to the streets. They immediately ran a while, went into an alley and got into a large waste container.

In that silence Zip could only wonder how he got into that mess. He looked at his tour-mate, who, with his ear glued to the container's metal wall, was trying to hear something outside. “What now...?”

“You talk too much.” Said the other dryly. “Learn to shut the fuck up.”

“Then tell me what you're gonna do with me. I'm tired of the show.”

The man stared at Zip, who noticed then a sorrowful glance on his bloodied face. “Leave.” He said, and shook his head. “I've already killed too many people.” And he fell silent.

Zip leaned back in the garbage and didn't move. Now that a death threat didn't weigh on him anymore, he reviewed the latest events. After a while, he said: “Hey, man...what you did before...with that manhole cover...that was _really_ cool. Don’t know _how_ you did it, but that was th-the-e most incredible thing I've ever s-seen...”

The man squinted and said: “Zip, I guess. You've left graffiti like cathedrals to advertise your misdeeds.”

“Yeah, everyone calls me that. Almost no one knows my name, and I don't like being called otherwise. And you’re...?”

“Kurtis.”

Zip chuckled and said: “What a cool name! Can I call you Kurt?”

“No. _Kurtis.”_


	7. The Reencounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chaper's image is a Lartis render made by AnyaVeritatis.

“Miss...”

Lara opened her eyes and stretched. At the foot of her bed was Winston, solicitous, offering a cordless phone on a tray. The woman sat up lazily, picked up the phone and then the butler told her: “It’s Professor Ivanoff from Romania, miss. I was unable to locate him until now.”

“Thank you...Ivanoff! We have to talk about the Shard...!”

“No, dear.” She heard the professor's voice. “I'm the one who brings bad news. Meteora’s monks told me you still don’t know about it.”

Lara frowned. “About what?”

“The Periapt has been stolen.”

The explorer sat bolt upright, completely awake now. “ _What...??”_

“Yes, it happened two days ago. And Nikos Kavafis, who's the new hegumenos since Axiotis died some months ago, is suffering.... a strange ailment. The monks believe he’s possessed.”

“Dammit, Vlad! Yesterday some kind of art dealer tried to buy the Shard!”

“But it was forbidden even to talk about it!”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, you dummy! Have you told anyone? Selma swears she knows nothing!”

“Meeeee? Look darling, if the last Lux Veritatis commands Vladimir Ivanoff to shut up about it, he will shut up, okay?”

She believed him. The Romanian professor had a respect for Kurtis bordering on panic due to the events that happened at Bran castle two years before.

Lara jumped up and began pacing around her bedroom like a caged animal, while the edge of her nightgown twirled around her ankles. “It's too coincidental! The Periapt disappears and someone wants to buy a Shard! And neither of those two artefacts were known to the public domain! Do you understand?”

“What about Mr. Yves?”

“For heaven’s sake, Ivanoff! I'd entrust Jean with my bank account key!”

“Do you want me to go to Meteora? I've to give a lecture in Athens and it wouldn't take too much...”

“Wait, let me go. I need to know _in situ_ what happened.” She said goodbye and hung up hastily. Winston was already next to her, attentive as ever. “From now on Selma and Charles will stay here.”

“Miss Al-Jazeera was spending a few days with the Indian girl...”

“No matter. Let them come here too. And tell Selma to bring the Periapt Shard she keeps, wherever it is, and leave it here.”

“Wouldn't be dangerous to reunite them? If the lady you see at the party was looking for one, maybe she'd want the other one...”

Lara frowned. Winston was clever and sensible. “We must take the risk. It may be worse to keep them scattered. I'm going to install an addition to the manor security system. If the Periapt had been stolen from a dusty crypt in an isolated monastery, they may also try to steal from here. Bloody monks! They don’t know to take care of what's theirs! Why did I leave the Periapt there!”

“So, miss...”

“I'm going to Meteora. Now. I need to know what happened and what's wrong with Kavafis.”

 

* * *

 

Marie looked up when she heard the distinctive roar of the motorbike. She turned to the visitor and whispered: “It's him.” And left the porch to greet him. “Oh, Kurtis!”

He limped slightly in the courtyard. Although he'd washed off the traces of blood, his face was covered in scratches and his clothing was still torn. “Just a bad day.” He joked. Then he frowned at seeing the dark figure appearing behind his mother. “What are you doing here?”

The monk nodded. “I've been sent by my brothers in Meteora. It’s…it’s urgent you follow me.”

“Can't he even have a rest?” Asked Marie. “He's hurt!”

“It's nothing.” He said, and turned to the monk. “What happened?”

The cenobite crossed his arms and hid his hands in the sleeves. “Our hegumenos was attacked by an evil creature and we believe he’s possessed.”

“What evil creature?” Kurtis took a bucket of water and dropped it on his head. He immediately felt the sharp sting on his face wounds. He tossed his hair back and buried his face in a towel.

“It was a woman.”

Marie snorted and laughed. “C'mon, Pancratios! A woman is _not_ an evil creature.”

“She looked _like a woman.”_

“Much better.” Kurtis pointed out. “Is that all?”

“We've bad news. The Periapt has been stolen.”

Kurtis whirled: “ _Stolen?_ Are you a bunch of idiots or something?”

“Kurtis!” Said the woman, shocked, but he continued. “You're supposed to be its ancestral keepers. I'd have done better sending it back to Loanna’s tomb. A dead woman was more efficient than a whole community of living monks!”

Pancratios said, visibly upset: “We're not warriors like you. If someone takes from us something by force, we can’t defend ourselves. We have people like you for that very purpose. And now we ask you to help us.”

He raised his hands helplessly and said: “Okay. I'll go.”

 

* * *

 

Lara sat on the rock and looked up. Ayios Stefanos gazed proudly at her from its location at the top of the huge rock. She'd planned to go and take a look, but she didn’t want to be discovered. The monks were very unfriendly and inhospitable to women. Lara didn’t really care about the attitude, but she wanted to investigate on her own without being disturbed - and that’s why she hadn't announced her arrival and had no intention of doing so.

“Well, here we go.” She muttered, and began to climb the cliff.

Getting up took her about twenty minutes. She collapsed at the entrance of the monastery, her body drenched in sweat and her heart pounding in her chest. She pulled a black robe out, prepared for the occasion, and put it on. The rim of the fabric covered her boots and a hood concealed her face. She hid her hands in long sleeves, after removing her leather gloves, and went into the monastery quietly.

Ayios Stefanos was as quiet and peaceful as it had always been. The British explorer walked the corridors; exchanging a brief nod to each monk she crossed paths with. Some of them turned, surprised, since they didn't remember having such a tall partner, but they didn’t bother with it.

Suddenly, a young novice came to her and grabbed her arm, startling her. “Brother!” He whispered. “Come on! He already arrived and he’s with the _patéras_.”

Of course, she'd no idea who'd arrived, but she quickly followed the novice. They arrived in a large room cleared of furniture, where half the community had gathered, crowded and restless. Among the tangle of dark robes Lara distinguished, in their midst, the hegumenos Nikos Kavafis. He seemed consumed and wasted, his red eyes bulging from their sockets, blood over his face - and suddenly Lara noticed, seeing him tied, it had been _him_ who'd harmed _himself_.

Suddenly a deep voice thundered in the room: “What have you done?”

Lara felt her heart rising to her throat and her legs almost buckled - it was the last voice she'd expected to hear again. She remained stiffened and breathless.

A man entered the room and walked passing by her side. She instinctively drew back, while the sweat froze on her skin. _Kurtis... Kurtis!_

The Lux Veritatis walked to the centre of the room and looked at the hegumenos. Nikos seemed inhuman, almost an animal, but that didn't seem to frighten him. He turned sharply to the others, furious: “Why do you have him tied up like a dog?”

The ecclesiarch came forward and said: “It's for your safety...and ours. Satan has dwelt in him for days and he doesn’t recognize anything or anyone. He's scratched his own face, cut himself, he's attacked many brothers and even tried to jump from the top of this rock. He drools and spits and he’s always uttering blasphemous words, for it is the devil who speaks through his mouth.”

Kurtis moved closer to the hegumenos, while all recoiled in terror. “Can you hear me, Nikos?” Kurtis muttered staring at him.

A gruesome laughter sprang from the skinned hegumenos's lips. Lara held back a gasp. That voice wasn't the same one the both of them knew. Instead, a hoarse, guttural, distorted voice admonished Kurtis: “I hear you perfectly, you son of a bitch... _magnam umbram et mortem spectare tui_...have you come to know, right? _Ergo auscultare mei, Lux Veritatis_...your days are going to end very soon...both for you and that harlot hiding there...”

Lara couldn't believe her ears. The terrifying voice, that unnatural mixture of Latin and Greek, and the fact _he could see her_ was incomprehensible. But Kurtis didn't seem to notice that and continued: “Who are you?”

“ _Ego sum tenebram princeps_ , with more class and purity than you, mortal bastard.”

“Let me talk to Nikos Kavafis.”

“He's wasted. He dared to put his filthy hands on the Divine Lady, and She sent me to punish him. But this punishment is little compared to what awaits you, _meretrix filium_.”

“Who's the Lady?”

“She's the one that was to come, Lilith’s Daughter, Lady of all demons. In her veins flows the blood of the Immortals and has come to avenge the Blessed. Beware of her aura, maggot, while you can.”

During that interval, some monks, unable to endure that voice, had dropped to the ground and others had left. Most of them were fingering the beads of their rosaries and murmuring prayers between moans, crossing themselves without stopping.

Kurtis sighed with exhaustion, as if tired of that interview, or as if he'd seen things like that hundreds of times. “If you don’t let me talk with the hegumenos, I’ll force you to go.”

For a moment, the creature dwelling in Nikos narrowed his eyes. Then, without more, spat on Kurtis’ face and released another monstrous laugh. That apparently ended the man’s patience, who turned loose to the rest of the group: “Get outta here!”

The monks weren't willing to do anything else, but Lara didn't want to leave the compound, although her heart beat violently at that scene. Taking advantage of the buzz of monks who left hurriedly, she slid down the wall and crouched in a corner. Kurtis stood alone with Nikos and the ecclesiarch, who seemed to be braver than the rest.

But the Lux Veritatis paid no attention to that, focused on his task - and suddenly reached out and drew a strange symbol in the air before the hegumenos' eyes, who screamed in a heartbreaking way, fell down and began to writhe as if rolling over coals.

Lara wasn't ready for that, for she had never seen such a horrible thing. She remembered the stories that Father Dunstan had told her about demons and exorcisms, stories which she'd always mocked, and bit her lower lip to contain a gasp again.

“You’re killing him!” Said the startled ecclesiarch, clutching his rosary tightly between his fingers.

“Hopefully not.” Murmured Kurtis, who had on his face an expression of deep sadness and guilt.

Suddenly, the hegumenos left squirming. Kurtis leaned forward and said: “You gonna let me talk to him now?”

Then, after a final evil grin, the monk’s face regained his human composure. He looked around briefly, deeply stunned, and then released a rant in an unintelligible language, which wasn't Greek or Latin, as complex as it was creepy, abrupt, and icy. The ecclesiarch shivered, and from the depths of her hood Lara saw Kurtis’ eyebrows rising in surprise. But then he answered to him in the same language! The hegumenos seemed relieved that someone finally could understand him. After an exchange of incomprehensible phrases, Kurtis turned to the ecclesiarch and said: “She's really made a mess of things, that Lady.”

When Kurtis looked in her direction, Lara lowered her head to avoid being recognized. Jesus! Among all the mortal enemies and friends, relatives and acquaintances, it had to be _him!_ She folded her arms to hide her trembling hands. Dammit! He was the last person she expected to find, and now he was about to derail her plans to go unnoticed – even if she’d been the one to not leave with the other monks.

But then the ecclesiarch spoke: “Has he been released?”

“The demon's gone for now. But I can't keep it from going back. Also, whoever he was talking about has put a curse of Babel language over him.” The other looked at him dumbfounded. Kurtis said: “Means that he's _actually_ speaking Greek, or so he thinks, but we don't understand him. And conversely, we believe to be talking in Greek to him, but he doesn't understand us.”

“Witchcraft! And you also speak that language?”

“I do _not_ speak it, but it would appear like that.” And seeing the ecclesiarch's stunned expression, Kurtis shook his head. “Nevermind. It’s a Babel language curse. It has confused us all.”

“Can you heal him?”

Kurtis looked back to the hegumenos, who was looking away and began to experience spasms in the face. Lara had the horrible feeling that the demon was trying _to get back_. “There’s nothing I can do.”

The ecclesiarch looked at him, shocked, and said: “But she said only you could save him! The woman who attacked him and stole the Periapt!”

Then Nikos rolled his eyes and emitted a guttural roar: “Bat…hsheeee...ba....”

Kurtis looked at him a moment and said: “Bathsheba. He said _Bathsheba_.”

This time Lara couldn't contain a surprised gasp. The man turned back to her but once again the ecclesiarch caught his attention: “I don’t know if that was her name. But she was wonderfully beautiful - like a witch! She took the Periapt and cursed our hegumenos before disappearing.”

“What else did she say?”

“Only that you'll heal him. That you killed her father and that your fight wasn't over.”

Lara couldn't get over her astonishment. Slowly she rose and separated from the wall. Kurtis had fallen into a mournful silence. “Better to leave him locked up and well-guarded. The demon could return.”

“Is it impossible to heal him?”

“I can only expel the demon, but he'll be back. I can't heal the curse, I'm not a Healer. If she said that, she was wrong.”

Lara slowly slipped out the door. By the time her hand gripped the knob, she heard Kurtis yelling: “You, don't move! Show me your face!”

 

* * *

 

Lara was stunned for a moment – then she opened the door with a jerk and ran down the aisle, while holding the hood on her head. Kurtis went after her but he quickly lost her. What a runner! He looked to where she had fled and ran towards the inner yard. He ran down the hall and opened a door leading to the outside by the fountain. He accelerated to full speed and caught her just as she left through the archway.

He didn’t give her time to react - pouncing on the fugitive and flinging her to the ground. She let out a cry of rage, but Kurtis, astride her, felt shocked. Was it his imagination or was it _a woman’s scream?_

She took advantage of the moment to push him and try to get up. He grabbed her hood and pulled and tore up and down the fine fabric to discover Lara’s furious face, with flushed cheeks and tousled hair.

For a moment, Kurtis looked at her totally stunned, like he couldn't believe his eyes. His expression was so funny that Lara couldn't help smirking and saying: “Well? What would you do now, Kurtis Trent? Arrest me for spying?”

He was still shocked. Eventually he managed to articulate in a hoarse voice: “Lara...”

She pushed him away - since he was still half lying on her, and stood up gracefully. Kurtis stared at her in silence, amazed at how little she'd changed - same glowing face, same lean and flexible body, same vibrant spirit, so charming and yet challenging. “Why did you do that?” He said then.

“Do what?”

“Enter the monastery like a spy. You know something about this Bathsheba, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Why are you hiding, Lara?” He insisted.

She narrowed her eyes and snapped: “Maybe _I didn’t want anyone to see me.”_

He sighed and ran his hand across his face, exhausted. Now that she was close, Lara saw he'd changed. Those two years had been like a breath for Lara and an eternity for Kurtis. They had left Lara intact, while they had beaten Kurtis head-on. He looked older, more tired, despite he was four years younger than Lara. His eyes were sunken; his shoulders tense and seemed to be full of grief and exhaustion. However, he was still _undoubtedly_ good-looking, and his deep blue eyes were shining in the same way, and not a single grey broke the intense darkness of his hair.

Then she realized she'd spent a while staring at him in silence, and quickly looked away as she said: “Ivanoff told me that the Periapt had been stolen and so I wanted to know what had happened, but without these monks intruding in my path. That’s all.” She concluded upset, wondering why she felt compelled to give him some explanation.

“I'd have liked you to stay away from all this.” He murmured more to himself than to her. “But you’ve heard about this Bathsheba, judging by your reaction. What do you know about her?”

A ray of sunlight slipped between the thick cloud cover which for some time had covered the valley. The light struck Lara's hair and gave it a golden glow. “Three days ago I met at a party an art dealer named Bathsheba. It’s not a very common name and the description fits, so she must be the same person who has stolen the Periapt, because she offered to buy the Shard.”

Kurtis looked at her, again stunned. “Dammit, Lara!” He shouted. Something in his reaction made Lara think that, if being close to a door, he'd have made it explode. “I trusted you!”

“Don’t you _dare_ accuse me.” She said coldly. “Neither Selma nor I have betrayed the Shards' existence. Therefore, there's only one person.”

“My mother,” he went on, furious, “lives alone and isolated for years and she talks to nobody but me. In fact, she’s the most trustworthy.”

Lara struck him with her eyes: “I'm _not_ staying here to take your crap.” She turned, but then noticed Kurtis’ hand grabbing her arm. She held an involuntary shudder.

“I'm not accusing you, Lara. I just...well, fuck this. That’s not what I want to talk about right now.”

Lara felt her hands trembling and her face burning. She'd imagined their reencounter a thousand times, but the proud and defiant statements she’d prepared for the occasion disappeared from her memory. She only felt that warm hand resting on her arm and those deep eyes penetrating her. Her heart was beating in her chest like a drum and that made her feel furious with herself. What the hell happened? She was losing control!

“I have to go.” She murmured, loosen her from his hand. “I've nothing else to do here.”

He cut her way off and looked at her ahead. “Wait, Lara. We need to talk.”

She smiled slightly and said: “I didn't recall you being _that_ diplomatic. In any case, I don't think you and I have anything to talk about.”

“Lara...”

“It's been two years.” She added with a tone that brooked no argument. “And a lot of things have changed, Kurtis. Better to leave things as they are.” She turned and headed toward the precipice edge. For a moment she thought he wouldn't add anything more, but then heard him saying: “You should return the Shard to me, ok? After all, it's still mine.”

Lara froze - she hadn't counted on that. “Within two days, come to Surrey.” She said, feeling like it wasn't her who spoke. “I'll give you the Shard and then you’ll leave.”

She started down the cliff quickly. However, when looking up after a while, she noticed he was still standing there at the edge, staring at her in silence. And what she read in his eyes almost make her lose her grip. So she gripped the stone with slippery hands, and she didn't look up again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, the demon inside Nikos Kavafis releases some sentences in Latin. Just for the record: 
> 
> "Magnam umbram et mortem spectare tui": A great shadow and death awaits you.
> 
> "Ergo auscultare mei, Lux Veritatis": Then, listen to me, Lux Veritatis. 
> 
> "Ego sum tenebram princeps": I am the prince of darkness.
> 
> "Meretrix filium": Son of a bitch.


	8. The Legionnaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a detail of Kurtis' T-shirt in Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness. GIF by PedroCroft.

“What! Kurtis was there? Oh please, Lara, tell me _everything!”_

“My head hurts, Selma.” She murmured, her face buried in the pillow of the couch. “Leave me alone.”

“Alone! How can you be _alone_ in this very moment!? You're unbelievable! You did invite him to come at least, didn’t you?”

“He _almost_ invited himself.”

“Please, Lara! Have you talked abou...?”

“Selma, _leave_.”

The Turkish girl arose, upset, and left the room abruptly. At the door she met Charles, who came with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Beware of the dog.” Selma warned pointing to Lara.

When she closed the door, Charles laughed. “Sometimes I think that girl would be better suited as a gossip reporter rather than an archaeologist. And you, as always, making friends...”

“If she keeps annoying me, I’ll send her to sleep in the graveyard.” Lara groaned, writhing on the couch.

Charles laughed again and uncorked the bottle. “Look what Winston found in the cellar! A top quality vintage Burgundy. Let's try it.”

Lara's mouth twitched. “I bet you've spent days drinking _my_ cellar.”

“And looking after your house and taking care of your beloved ones, sweetheart. But neither Bathsheba nor anyone else has shown up.” He poured two glasses and offered one to Lara. Then he looked out the window and said: “He’s that man, isn't he?”

Outside in the garden they saw Winston, who was supposed to be overseeing the gardener’s work on the hedge outside, but who was instead heading for a strong man who'd just parked an impressive motorbike. He was being welcomed with the greatest of kindness, probably due to the intimate admiration the butler felt for him because of his sketches.

“See that?” Lara grunted. “My own butler conspiring against me.”

“Well.” Said Charles, laughing. “He's just being polite. By the way, where did this guy come from? Looks like a mixture of McGyver and Terminator.”

Lara winced, tired, but said nothing.

The door opened and she and Charles stood up in their seats. Lara was wearing a beautiful long skirted silvery grey suit that enhanced her skin and had her hair tied back. She could almost imagine Selma’s malicious comments about her pretty looks, but for her it was clear it was to "show respect to the visitor" and “impose with due dignity to a host."

“You’re stunning.” Charles had told her, and now Lara had the impression of reading the same message in Kurtis’ eyes.

Then, a scream broke the awkward silence. Selma suddenly appeared and practically threw herself around the man's neck, while depositing two noisy kisses on his cheeks. “Kurtis! You look well!” Said the girl. “Two years without seeing you, glad you're okay, I thought you...!”

Lara didn't hear Selma’s enthusiastic words or what Kurtis answered. She just felt a deep anger inside her due to Selma’s behaviour. Not because of jealousy - that would've been _nonsense,_ but because in her spontaneous and friendly reaction, the Turkish girl was exposing Lara as a dry and rude person. Suddenly, she felt like getting up and screaming out loud, but she didn't know why. “Enough, Selma.” Lara then spat dryly. The girl pulled away from Kurtis and glared at her, but she, ignoring her, told him. “You tell me.”

Kurtis looked around. Lara was gracefully installed on her couch and behind her, Charles waited in silence, like a bodyguard. Selma was uncomfortably staring at the floor from the chair she was now sitting in. Then Winston, horrified, realized that nobody had offered Kurtis a seat and hurried to offer him a chair.

Smiling wryly with all the impudence of the world, Kurtis turned the chair, sat with his legs apart, elbows on the back's seat, and crossed his fingers, resting his chin on them. Lara took this gesture as a challenge.

“Wow, what an audience. Do I have to bow and kiss your hand, M'lady? Or should I just kneel and lick your shoe sole?”

“If it makes you happy.” She muttered, annoyed by his attitude. Then she looked at the others and saw that everyone was ready to burst into laughter, except Winston, who looked at her sadly, as if to say: _This is not right_.

“I'd prefer them to leave us alone.” Kurtis pointed.

Selma jumped up and hurried to leave the room, as if wishing to leave them alone. After a moment's hesitation, Charles followed her, and finally Winston, throwing Lara a glance she couldn't interpret as he closed the door quietly.

“What's wrong with you, Lara? You’re behaving like a sulky child.”

“Stop it, Kurtis. You came for the Shard.”

“And for something else.”

Lara stood indignantly. Oh, the nerve! “That _something else_ is not going to happen.”

“I want to know why you're mad at me.”

She pursed her lips. For a second, she thought she'd hold on, but finally she broke out: “What did you expect? You vanished two years ago. I didn't know whether to leave you for dead or not. And suddenly you show up again and pretend everything is exactly the same as before you left. Well, not at all! Take your Shard and _get outta here_. I don't want to see you.”

Kurtis stood motionless, looking into her eyes, as if he couldn't believe what he just heard. Then he murmured: “Need a smoke.” He got up, pulled out one from a snuff pack and lit it. Then he approached to the wall, leaned on it and took a drag. He looked nervous. “Let's see... you got a problem with understanding.” He said slapping his forehead with two fingers. “First, what am I? No, wait, don’t tell me. I'll tell you: a Lux Veritatis. Did you forget what that means?”

She didn't answer.

“I told you, Lara. I told you I couldn't stay with you. You and me can't be together. That's why I left.”

“Great, since that's the reason you’ll leave again.”

“You shouldn't be angry. I told you, very clearly, how my life is, how it has always been: all the people I cared for have died at the hands of my enemies. It's their way to get revenge. I didn't want the same to happen to you.”

“Don't give me that gibberish. You did it for your own stupid sense of honour, for all that bullshit about having a mission to fulfill.”

“Dammit, Lara. I expected more of you.”

Lara jumped up, walked to the door and opened it. She poked her head into the hallway and said: “Winston, instead of standing there spying, call Radha and tell her to bring the velvet box.” Then she slammed the door and turned back to Kurtis: “I _also_ expected _more_ of you. Why don’t you face the truth for once? You took advantage of me in a bad way. We were together in a difficult situation and I got carried away. What I don’t know is how I could be _so_ stupid! Of course, I've a bad reputation, right? Easy girl. What amazes me is that you didn’t stay to get _everything.”_

Kurtis stood up as if the wall had burnt him: “I'm not that kind of man!”

“I don’t care. I neither forgive, nor forget.”

He put again the cigarette in his mouth while muttering something about it being surreal and a little more about he was running out of patience. He took a deep drag, blew the smoke slowly and said: “You may stay with your ridiculous and selfish ideas. These two years have been torture for me, because I've tried to forget you but I simply can’t...and don’t turn your face away from me like some offended maiden. If you can’t understand why I left, at least you should to understand _why_ I'm putting up with this. In fact, it's for the same reason.”

To Lara's great relief she didn't have to hear what reason was - although she could imagine...and fear it, because at that moment the door opened and Radha entered. The little Indian girl carried a velvet case in her hands. But when she just looked up, her black eyes widened in horror at seeing Kurtis – then she screamed and fell full length on the damask carpet.

Lara and Kurtis rushed at the same time to the small figure, which was pale and unconscious.

“You scare kids.” Lara took advantage to make a cruel joke, but she cut it off when seeing Radha truly unconscious and Kurtis watching her in silence. Then Lara looked up and asked: “Do you know her? ...”

He murmured: “I think so...but it was a long time ago...”

 

* * *

 

Later at night, when Radha recovered from her impression, she'd tell Lara why she knew Kurtis, although it had been a long time ago and he barely remembered her. Radha was nine years old when the Foreign Legion ransacked Khusuma Bharadji's village. It really wasn't an attack itself - for what harm could those poor, miserable people do to them? But merely a raid...just for fun.

The little child was kneading manure to make bricks, a very common task among children in India. Beside her, her older sister, the gentle Sita, sat staring at her.

Sita was fifteen and had half of her face burned, devoured by the acid that her alienated husband had thrown over her after she'd tried to escape several times. That hateful man had died of old age and Sita had gone home, expelled from the house. Dressed in white, befitting her status as a widow and with a shaved head and a deformed face, she'd to cover her face so nobody could see it. She was only a shadow of what she'd been, and all ignored her. It would've been better for her to cast herself on the pyre of her deceased tormentor. The only one who took pity on her was her younger sister, who contrary to what the strict Hindu custom ordered, she was always bringing her food and conversation. “Don’t you miss your lost beauty?” Radha told her, knowing that her sister had always been admired for the delicacy of her features.

But Sita always replied: “I haven’t lost my beauty, Radha. I see it right now in your face.”

Over time, Radha was convinced that what had destroyed her sister wasn't acid, but marriage. And she trembled while waiting for the day when a man would lay a finger on her.

Suddenly, they heard screams at the village edge.

“What's happening?”

Sita stood, covering again her misshapen face with a veil. Then they heard the first burst of shrapnel.

“ _Dacoit!”_ Radha shouted while rising, pronouncing the name of the most feared criminals among the locals.

“No.” Said Sita. “They’re legionnaires.”

Radha didn't ask how she knew that. She wouldn't have understood that her older sister had to offer her body to those white men to get some food and survive, always keeping her face veiled. After all, the face wasn't what they wanted in a woman, and they never would've come again for her if seeing how she _actually_ was.

Sita took her hand and led her into the jungle, which was very close. They huddled under some leaves and remained silent. The cries and shots were increasing. And suddenly, the first blast sounded. Radha cowered, terrified. Sita, who was looking over the bushes, said: “The village is burning. They have set it on fire.”

Radha gave a sob of fear. Her sister seemed strangely quiet. Was she not afraid of that? “What will become of father, mother, and our brothers?”

“May the benevolent Lakshmi have mercy on them. I'll take care of you.”

They remained motionless for a moment, and suddenly, some branches creaked a few steps from them. Before she could react, Sita lifted her with a jerk and pushed her forward. Something whizzed past next to her ear and slammed in the bark of a nearby tree. She gave a cry of terror and buckled her knees.

“Run or you're dead!” Sita screamed in her ear.

Suddenly, four huge figures cut off their way. They were strong, pale-faced men, terribly impressive as they were covered with dirt and with that wild and fierce expression on their faces.

Radha tried to retreat, but strong arms lifted her up and carried her on a back before she could even react. She struggled, but her nine years were little against that brutal man's strength. She looked back but only managed to see two of them dragging her sister, taking her by her white robe. She would never see her again.

The young girl knew it wouldn't help at all, but she yelled. She screamed with all her strength while her captor took her through the jungle. The journey didn't last long; soon they reached an open area full of barracks, tents, and trenches. It was the Foreign Legion camp.

“Hey!” Shouted gleefully the legionnaire who had kidnapped her, throwing her to the ground as if she was a sack. “Look what I found!”

The other released grotesque laughter and came to look at the girl, who was paralysed with terror and didn't even react when someone dragged her into a dark damp barrack. When they reached the door she regained her strength and clung desperately to the door frame, screaming so hard that he shushed her in one punch. That didn't make her flinch, because suddenly, in her tender and childlike mind, she'd begun to sense _what they wanted to do with her,_ and so she began biting and kicking to try to get rid of those dirty hands that held, beaten, and rummaged her under her torn _sari_ fabric.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Radha didn't understand those words or any other she'd heard, as they were expressed in French; but they had the power to stop their attackers who turned towards the one who'd spoken, another legionnaire who'd just arrived.

“Hey, Trent!” Shouted the one who was holding her. “Tell me what you think about _this!”_ And pushed her so brutally that Radha fell into the arms of the other legionnaire, who held her firmly, but not violently. “We got her from the village.” He continued. “You didn’t want to come with us...”

Without uttering a word, that guy went through his colleagues and got inside the hut, grabbing the girl with him. That provoked the laughter of the other legionnaires, who applauded and whistled with obscene shouting: “What chutzpah, Trent! When finished, please tell us!”

The door closed, darkness pervaded everything, and Radha was no longer but a naked and huddled girl sobbing terrified in a corner, waiting for that brutal man to do with her what he wanted...

She heard her attacker coming and going with something and a flame was kindled in the midst of the darkness. It was the soldier's lighter, in whose light Radha saw his face. He was pale and severe as the others, and his hair was dark. A shallow cut beside the eye bloodied his left temple. But she couldn't help but notice his eyes. She'd never seen someone with such eyes - they were blue. “Shit.” He murmured. “You're just a kid.”

She was shaking so hard that her teeth chattered and shook. The legionnaire reached out and touched her shoulder, which caused the girl screaming and going aside.

“Don't yell, kiddo. I won’t do anything to you.” A slight smile appeared on the soldier’s face, and although Radha couldn't understand him, she was reassured by the calm tone of his voice.

That soldier felt sick. Sick of himself and sick of the world around him. He knew this was usual - the military, pushed to the limit of their endurance in inhuman missions that made them go crazy out of loneliness and pain, eventually became cruel killing machines, as well as thieves and rapists. Since no one had compassion for them, they had no compassion for anyone. Not even for a nine-year-old innocent child, nor for a village of poor people. He knew that, and hated them all, even his own self - for he was no different from them.

He got up, determined, and handed her a jacket, with which Radha covered herself immediately. Then he opened a trapdoor in the floor and pointed to the tunnel. It went across the camp and the soldiers used it to escape from their disciplinarians. Despite language barriers, Radha understood perfectly. She approached to the hole and, before going down, she turned and quickly taking the legionnaire's rough hand, kissed it in gratitude. Then she dropped in and ran across the tunnel - towards freedom.

The legionnaire stared for a moment at the trap door, sighed and dropped it. Then he went to confront his peers, which were no longer men, but beasts.

And that extraordinary man had been none other than Kurtis himself.

 

* * *

 

When Radha concluded her story, Selma was happily smiling and Lara was silent. The Turkish archaeologist was glad to have no reason to see her heroic image of Kurtis disturbed. As for Lara, she wasn’t surprised at all, for if among that horde of savages whom everyone knew as the Foreign Legion there was a single man who would save Radha of injury and misery, that _had_ to be Kurtis, so overprotective and clean in the depths of himself, though all that surrounded him rotted.

And what about Radha? What strange fate had taken the same girl to be saved by both Kurtis long ago and Lara now? The British explorer didn't believe in fate, but she couldn't take her mind off that smiling girl with black eyes looking at her now. What higher power had placed her in her hands? Was it okay now to discard her like old clothes now that she'd escaped the fire as she was spared by Kurtis from being raped, just to have her conscience calmed...?

“Radha.” She said then, and didn't recognize her own voice and why she uttered those words. “Would you like to stay and live here in Surrey?”

The child's eyes opened ecstatic, and like the kid she should have never ceased to be, threw herself at her lap with her arms around her neck as she kissed her cheek: “Oh, _bahanji_ , I'd love to stay!”

Lara stiffened - she'd never been hugged by a child, but then relaxed and smiled. Selma looked at her silently, both surprised and pleased with her decision.

“Ahem, ahem...” They turned. Winston waited politely in the doorway. “Which room do you reserve for Mr. Trent? Due to Miss Deli's indisposition, I figured he'd stay overnight.”

Lara frowned. “The doghouse will suit him.” The elbow she received from Selma in the flank cut off her breath. “Okay.” She granted, rolling her eyes. “Give him the room down the hall.”

Winston came out and sighed. Kurtis, at the foot of the stairs, exhibited a wry smile. “Well, where does the dog sleep?”

The butler blushed to the ears and mumbled: “I'm sorry...”

“No worries, pal.” He said, loading the haversack over his shoulder. “By the way, is she always like that when pissed off?”

Winston took a quick glance over his shoulder, and after making sure that no one could hear him, murmured: “Nah, she’s even worse.”

“Then I pity you, Winston. You’re a saint.”

 


	9. The Woman Of Mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a drawing by Carola Funder of Lara Croft, which was originally intended for The Golden Seal.

Lara woke up early. As she always did when this happened to her, she put on a tracksuit and went for a run.

Surrey was a set of several hills which were green in summer and in autumn they turned to golden brown. Lara liked to run right at dawn while the air was still cold. A dense fog floated all around her so she neither saw where she came from nor where she went, which gave her a great sense of isolation and freedom.

She stopped in the middle of a meadow, panting and sweaty. The fog began to dissipate and the first rays of sunlight began to seep through the clouds.

Suddenly, she seemed to distinguish something in the fog - a tall and slender figure. “Who's there?”

Those lands were her property and no worker should be there at that hour. She started to follow it, but the fog didn't allow her to distinguish who it was.

The figure moved forward, then walked away, but she didn't even hear the sound of feet touching the grass. A strange white mist seemed to be flying around the figure, was it a dress?

Lara ran. She was very fast and in a few seconds she should have reached it. But something strange happened - the figure didn't move, however, she couldn't reach it. Always away from her, always out of reach, even running, but it didn't move!

And suddenly, it was in front of her.

Lara screamed in surprise, and amid the mist, a beautiful intricate stained face framed by dark lines and albino hair glanced at her with a pair of empty eyes. A pair of white hands stroked her throat, cold as ice, and the intense perfume of lavender completely flooded her.

Lara squirmed and tried to grab the apparition, but her fingers grasped only cold air. And yet there it was, before her and its albino face which was suddenly horribly familiar to her.

But then she felt like strong pincers on her temples, lost her balance and fell backward, not knowing why she'd lost all her strength. Laying on the ground, she saw the albino _lady_ leaning over her, and then she passed out.

 

* * *

 

Lara opened her eyes. Surprised, she felt a metallic taste in her mouth and, when she came to, the blood that filled it slipped out from the corners of her lips and thin streaks ran down her neck. She had bitten her tongue when falling.

With gurgling breaths and sore muscles, she looked around - the fog had cleared off the grass and the sun shone fully. Slowly she arose, after checking her tongue hadn't been damaged severely. The green grass was far too bright and she still smelt the fragrance of a familiar scent...

Upon awakening, an object fell from her lap. She bent down, picked it up, and stared at it for a moment, wondering what it was doing there.

It was a lavender flower.

 

* * *

 

“Winston? Where's everybody?” Lara looked around, surprised. There wasn't a single noise in the house, and that was strange, because although she didn’t want to admit it, she already was used to the fuss made by the Indian girl – who was gradually regaining her childhood while running from one room to another, or hearing Selma humming a few poems in her native language.

The butler feigned an air of innocence. “Miss Deli’s still asleep. Yesterday she ended up very tired by the events and...”

“Yes, yes, yes, but...what about Selma?”

Winston looked down, blushing. He was terrible at pretending. At the end of his small mouth he mumbled: “She's gone, together with Mr. Trent...”

“ _What!?”_

The venerable Irishman raised his eyes then to fix in sight his mistress' stunned face, and then saw the dried blood around his mouth. “Miss, you’re hurt! Let me...”

“Forget that, Winston! Selma and Kurtis left? Without saying anything?”

He said nothing more. Choking with rage, she turned and went upstairs like a hurricane. Winston followed her to calm her. “You see, miss, I can explain...”

“I hope _so!”_

“...Mr. Trent got up this morning ready to go. He wouldn't say why. You were already gone and Ms. Al-Jazeera had been talking to him for a while. She finally packed up and joined him.”

“But why? After having welcomed them at _my_ home! Both she and that... _that_...!”

Before she dropped some atrocity, the butler stepped in quickly: “They have left for Turkey.”

Lara couldn't get over her indignation. She began to strip off the wet tracksuit with fury, forgetting that Winston was still there. With courtesy, the old man opened the door of the closet to hide her from his sight. “Let’s see...” He continued, more and more nervous. “Mr. Trent planned to go to Turkey to solve...some unfinished business. Something about Cappadocia’s necropolis. As you know, Miss Al-Jazeera worked there as an archaeologist...in fact, it seems like she's offered to help him. And they have left, taking the Periapt Shards with them, just as you wanted...”

“ _Just as I wanted!?_ They’ve left without saying a word! Without telling _me!_ How dare they?”

“Well...if I dare, miss...I recall you suggesting Mr. Trent to leave as soon as possible...since you had no interest at all in his business...”

No answer. The closet door moved slowly and revealed Lara’s face, red with rage. She was pretty scary. “I hope you haven't had _anything_ to do with this plot, Winston.”

But the butler kept staring at the tips of his shoes. Suddenly, Lara felt sure he _did_ have a lot to do with it. Blackmail, of course! But why was she upset? Didn’t she want him to leave? Or might be what really bothered her was that Kurtis had left without saying goodbye, that Selma joined him, giving her a slap to her very face, or might it be that they had undertaken an adventure on their part and left her aside, knowing that was what would most hurt her pride? Or was it _all_ at once?

A bit calmer, Lara said: “I'm going to Turkey. Take care of Radha until I return. If they think they can do this to me, they're mistaken. Whatever they have to do in Cappadocia, they won't leave me out of this. Nice to go without me! We'll see who has the last laugh...” As she got into the shower grunting under her breath, Winston, still with his head down, smiled triumphantly.

 

* * *

 

Marie returned home at dusk, carrying her bag of old rags. She was exhausted, not having expected one of her patients to go into labor that day, but at least it was all over happily. To be still so skilled at her old age filled her with pride.

The sun had set and a red mist wrapped the house. As she approached, the silence thickened and she heard only her feet rustle against the gravel floor. She was entering the backyard when she saw a white shadow in the corner of her eye.

Marie swerved, and thought she saw a foggy figure melted into the darkness barely moving. “Who's there!” She shouted.

Silence. Marie left the basket on the floor and walked slowly to the porch. Then again saw a white flash, this time on the other side.

Her instinct, used to react at the slightest danger, prompted her to run for the door. When she yanked and turned to close it, she saw in the doorway a pair of empty sockets in some kind of cerulean face staring at her. With a cry of horror, Marie tried to close the door, but it was unable to move, it seemed to have been barred. The white figure came wrapped in a strange mist.

She didn't stay to pray or to beg for her life. Realizing _this_ was a matter of seconds, Marie ran into the room, pulled a rifle from a chest and chambered a round at such speed any experienced soldier would’ve envied. Then she pointed to the sinuous haze beginning to enter the room.

“Stay away! Go away or I'll shoot!” She howled, even though she knew that a firearm might _not_ hurt that thing. An intense aroma filled the air, and she went back, dazed. “Stay away!” She repeated, trying to control her voice's tremor. An intense cold seized her. Her sight began to cloud. Finally, she pulled the trigger.

There was a dull roar, the bullet melted into mist. Suddenly, the white aura contracted and Marie thought she'd heard a slight groan. There was a deep sound of suction and, as it had come, the apparition vanished.

Marie remained a moment, trembling, her rifle still held up. Then she slowly lowered it. The silence was awful and a strange fragrance filled the room.

Finally, she dropped the rifle and put it on the table. Pressing her lips tightly, she prepared to take her essentials. Used to fleeing, Marie knew that, whatever was that thing, it was looking for her and if it returned, it would be better for her not to be there.

 

* * *

 

Istanbul, the beautiful, serene city, welcomed her the same way as years before. As she walked through the streets, inhaling the scent of saffron market, Lara remembered. On those same streets she'd headed to contact a young Turkish archaeologist who was taking care of a sick and badly injured man...

Lara shook her head, annoyed. This was no time for longing! This time was different. She felt offended and insulted. Perhaps she hadn't been exactly _polite_ with Kurtis, but Selma, whom she had taken to England because of her moral trauma of returning to Turkey - how dare she do _that_ to her? She’ll see!

When she reached the door of Selma’s apartment, she was again so upset that she pounded without mercy, shouting: “Selma Al-Jazeera! Open immediately!”

A turbaned old man looked out the window of a neighbouring house, attracted by the screams. He stared, mouth agape, at that blatant British woman making such a fuss. Lara saw him and snapped: “What the hell are you looking at!” The old man hurried to close the window and went inside, shocked, at the time Selma slowly opened the apartment door.

The Turkish girl’s face appeared in the doorway, with a slightly guilty expression on her face. “Lara? But...”

The British explorer pushed past her impatiently, went in and closed the door. “I bet you didn't expect to see me here, right? But you know that for me halfway across the world is like going for a walk. You can't escape from me, and I expect a good explanation for this. You didn't seem so poorly mannered to leave my house that way, as if I were your enemy, after all I've done for you. Unless everything has been plotted by that lout Kurtis! By the way, where is he?” She peered over Selma’s shoulder. “Come here and face the consequences like a man!”

“Lara, please.” Selma said with difficulty. “Look at you. For some time now you've had terrible behaviour. And stop yelling - Kurtis isn't here.”

“What a surprise!” Lara laughed sarcastically.

Selma sighed: “Lara, I beg you not to blame him. Everything was my idea...well, mine and Winston’s.”

“I knew it!” Muttered Lara. “What _on earth_ is the meaning of this show?”

“Lara, believe me, this has been the result of your attitude...I've much appreciation for you, but, admit it; you’ve been really...unbearable.”

“And seeing you could stand me no more, you left this morning without telling me a word. Not a good way of doing things.”

“We wanted you to reflect.”

“ _You wanted...?_ I see, a real conspiracy! Anyway, I've not crossed Europe to go back empty-handed. What are you up to?”

The Turk didn't answer. She went to the lounge and Lara followed her. There she noticed a table covered with maps, drawings, and templates. “Watch...it’s my material. My notes from Cappadocia’s excavation. Remember? I was unable to resume my task. Eckhardt's attack...Ahmad’s death...I tore it all and destroyed my dreams and expectations. Then I had to flee because Gunderson’s men would have killed me. Now is the time to resume the work I left half-done.”

Lara looked at her as she stroked the schemes of Cappadocia’s stratigraphy, spellbound.

“Last night...” Continued Selma, “Kurtis knocked on my door and told me he was leaving. He wouldn't give me details, but he was mad at you, Lara. You did wrong by him...yes, I know it's not my business, but...it really felt bad to witness that. I asked him where he was going...especially because I knew that at dawn, you'd hopelessly wonder about him, even though, in theory, you didn’t care about him at all anymore.”

“How _well_ you know me.”

Selma chose to ignore the ironic twang in Lara's words and continued: “Kurtis took the Shards. To my surprise, he said he was willing to enter Eden.”

“Enter...where?”

The Turkish archaeologist bent over her papers and took one, which she handed to Lara. She took it and noticed it was a sketch of the galleries in the Nephilim necropolis in Cappadocia. “You see, Lara, the gallery that ends in a cross? The cross points out the exact location of a deep well whose bottom we failed to reach. On that day, we believed that this could well lead to Eden.”

“And Eden is...?”

“What’s that, Lara? Don’t you know? Eden is the name that the Nephilim gave to their great city.”

The silence weighed on the room for a moment, while Lara was still staring at the huge cross. “Eden...” She murmured. “So there was a city under the necropolis. Why didn't you tell me about this?”

Selma was now as red as a tomato. “Because I was ashamed of it. Ahmad and I believed in the existence of the city, but everyone laughed at us. In theory it was only a myth. But Kurtis told me it's real. He knows because...because his father had been there.”

Lara briefly rolled the note and dropped it on the table. “So Kurtis has asked you to help him access the dig, as you're the lead archaeologist, and you wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to confirm your ambitious theory. So you embark on this without even consulting me, _me_ , Lara Croft! You know how much I love discovering lost places and you wanted me _out_ of that!”

“I knew it would hurt you, Lara. So we left. We wanted you to follow us...well; _I_ wanted you to follow us. Not Kurtis. He’s really mad at you, and he’s right, Lara.” She said throwing her a reproachful look.

“I don’t care about what Kurtis may think about me and of course it’s _none_ of your business.” She replied tartly. “Seriously, how couldn’t you tell me _anything?”_

“You wouldn’t have listened. Look at you, Lara! Look what you've become! You're beautiful, charming, brave and admirable, but you're destroying yourself. Why do you behave like that? Why are you doing _this_ to him?”

Lara's eyes narrowed and after a moment, she whispered: “You can’t understand.”

“Right. I don’t think a single human being could understand you, Lara.” Selma sighed, and changing the subject, she added: “Would you be willing to help me with the campaign, Lara? You're the best in this matter, and I can’t undertake the search for Eden alone. If you don't want to do it for _him_ , at least do it for me.”

The British explorer looked again at that cross on the map. Eden. A lost city in the bowels of the earth. Why not? Was this not what she always wanted? Was this not her way of life, was this not that for which she'd been born? She smiled. “Of course.”

Selma's sweet face brightened. Elated, she pounced onto Lara's neck and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. **“** I knew you wouldn’t let me down! Eden, here we go!”

 


	10. The Great Goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is the famous Burney Relief or Queen of the Night Relief, kept at British Museum of London. This wonderful Babylonian stone plaque depicts a goddess identified with either Lilith, Isthar or Astarte. The identification is still under discussion.

He was suffering. In a very disgusting way – and for nothing.

Giselle bent over the patient’s stretcher as she adjusted the oxygen mask. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. “Come on.” She muttered through clenched teeth. “Breathe, you idiot. Breathe. You’ll be of no help if you die.”

She felt a gentle breeze at her back; a deep fragrance filled the air, and immediately knew her daughter had arrived. She didn't use the doors to enter and exit - it was easier and pleasant to her to appear and disappear like the angel she in fact was.

The dying man on the stretcher widened his eyes when he saw Bathsheba. Letting out a groan, he tried to reach her.

“He thinks I'm an angel who comes to take him to heaven.” Murmured the beauty, as she read his mind quickly. “He begs me to end his pain.”

“Instead of citing poetry,” The busy doctor growled, turning to the tray material, “save his life. He's dying.”

“Not true.” Bathsheba replied, smiling calmly. “He’s _already_ dead.”

Giselle turned sharply. It was true - the man was stiff, with staring eyes fixed on her daughter. “You could have saved him.” The doctor said, letting out a sigh of annoyance.

“Oh, mother.” The Nephilim smiled. “You made him suffer enough. You’ve dozens of patients, do you not?”

“Yes, but he'd already completed treatment, and now I've to start again. Next time do me a favour, okay? You know your abilities are of great help to me.”

Bathsheba said nothing. Taking the ends of the bed sheet, she covered the body of the deceased. Giselle was taking notes furiously in her notebook.

The Nephilim knew the truth about Giselle’s illegal experiments - true crimes against human rights. But the Cabal gave them coverage and financing. In fact, she was managing to reach further than other scientists constrained by moral or legal scruples. The end justifies the means, that was Giselle's motto, and of all those who collaborated with her. Inmates suffered, their lives were sacrificed, yes, but progress was priceless. Besides, was Bathsheba not the perfect proof that those experiments had a fair and beautiful end? Among her people, Giselle was obeyed like a respected general or a religious leader. No one doubted her word and those who did weren’t worthy of being there.

But Bathsheba knew - Giselle had been long asking her to cure or extend the life of her patients. She could, as Karel could. A touch of her fingers, a puff of her breath, a kiss from her lips and the pain vanished temporarily, wounds closed or gangrenes stopped their draining. She had the power, since she inherited it from her father. Why not use it?

And Bathsheba, in spite of everything, knew - she was turning into an instrument to her mother. At first she'd consented, fascinated to see that power coming from inside her, which she barely could control. But soon she got tired. So that’s why she'd left the man to die. She was the Angel of Death he'd asked her to be.

The Nephilim was tired, very tired.

She turned around ready to leave, but Giselle took her arm and went out into the hallway. “Have you found out something about the Shards?” The doctor questioned, tidying her short, bouncy blonde hair.

“The British explorer had one of them. But when I went to take it, since as you know she didn't want to sell it, it had already changed hands. She's really clever, but it's only a matter of time. The other one is in the Lux Veritatis' mother’s hands...but when I went to steal it she attacked and hurt me. I had to retreat.”

“You should've killed them. Both of them.”

Bathsheba paused and gave her a cold stare. “Even if you're my mother, I _won't_ have you telling me what to do. Lara Croft is not my goal and that Navajo woman is still useful. I won't kill them...yet.”

“Whatever. But try not let them become a problem for us. You know something about the Lux Veritatis?”

The beauty stopped. Her green eyes were lost in the distance. “That’s…strange.” She muttered. “I can't see him in the distance. There's an aura wrapping him around...which hides him from my view. As if he knew I'm looking for him.”

“That bastard can't hide for long.” Said the scientist, categorically. “You can’t imagine how great my desire is to find him.” And smiled cruelly.

Bathsheba turned and took her mother's face in her gentle hands. Face to face they seemed sisters...two beautiful twins, so alike and yet so different. “Calm down, mother.” The Nephilim said, stroking Giselle's forehead. “Hatred and desire for revenge are consuming you. And then you won’t get what you want.”

They heard a cough. They turned and saw Gertrude there, dressed as usual up and down with her long black dress and veil, like a black widow. “Blessed Daughter.” She said to Bathsheba. “Would you want to join this poor old lady?”

When Bathsheba took her arm, the old woman and the young doctor exchanged a cold glance.

 

* * *

 

“Careful.” Bathsheba whispered. “My mother never liked you, and now less, given the attention you lavish on me.”

“Oh, she’s only jealous. She's always been jealous. When her sister was alive she was jealous of her success, when _Meister_ Eckhardt was still alive she was jealous of him because he got _Meister_ Karel’s attention. And when both died she still was jealous of anyone who approached to speak with him.”

They went down the hallway and slowly approached the chapel's area, a place only visited by the old Gertrude to pray, and no one else. She worshipped the Great Goddess. That was hilarious for Giselle and the rest of the team, for whom the Great Goddess was nothing but a distant and lost ancient myth. They believed in science, in Bathseba's gift.

The altar was placed facing the East, where the Great Goddess was born. Her statue was chairing the altar. Tall, beautiful and naked, escorted by two owls, holding in her hands the exhilarating symbols as her feet sank into the ground like claws. Lilith. The first woman, and also the queen of all demons.

“I was young when initiated by _Meister_ Eckhardt in the Goddess cult.” Gertrude whispered as she took a box of matches. “You'll be surprised to know that _Nephili_ used to worship Lilith. They believed she was the mother of them all, since she’d intercourse with an angel. Now, only I among all of us keep the worship.”

Bathsheba had heard that story hundreds of times, but she listened patiently. Gertrude, despite repeating herself as the dotty old woman she was, always provided her with some valuable information. Not surprisingly she was the Cabal's oldest member, after the death of the two _Meisters_.

Smiling, the Nephilim approached the old lady and took the matchbox out of her hands. Then, leaning toward each of the candles, she lit the wicks by blowing slightly above them. Gertrude looked at her amazed.

“Don’t look at me like that, aunt.” She laughed. “This is just a child's trick.”

“Your mother and the others laugh at me because I still revere the Goddess! She's whom you look like. You're her child; I'm convinced, as were all _Nephili_ born from her. They, your mother and the others, are idiots. They with all their stupid experiments.”

“I was born from a _stupid experiment_.” Bathsheba replied smiling.

“You were born from Karel’s seed! And he was one of the Ancients, perhaps born in the Second or Third Generation. Lilith's blood runs through your veins, Blessed Daughter! You're divine - a goddess. The power that protects you proclaims what I say.”

The Nephilim smiled. Nothing disturbed the sweetness of her face. Since she'd been a girl, in those years, the old Gertrude had taken her with and repeated that over and over again. She'd initiated her in Lilith's cult, the Mother. And time and again she'd shown her she was more than the beautiful and perfect creature emerged from a risky experiment.

Gertrude came up and gripped her arm. Only she and Giselle could touch her - this was prescribed and ordered. “Listen. Your mother's crazy. She uses you as if you were a Messiah who came to heal and smooth the road. Healing wounds, lengthen life, only to see her disgusting experiments continued. The answer is not science. The road to Paradise won't be found cutting members and filling vases with fluid samples. The road to Paradise is you, Blessed Daughter.” She turned abruptly and walked to the altar, before which she knelt and prayed quietly. Lilith's blurred statue was mixed with the wisps of smoke streaming from the candles.

Free from the old woman’s ramblings, Bathsheba turned ready to leave the chapel, but then Gertrude spoke again: “Don’t you know what your mother is preparing for you?”

The Nephilim stood still.

“Oh, you don’t know because you don’t want to. You can find out what pleases you, Blessed Daughter. You just have to want it. But if you don’t want to, you really can’t.”

Bathsheba took a deep breath, ordering herself to be patient with the senile ravings of this woman. “What about my mother’s plans?”

“There are not very different from Eckhardt and Karel’s plans. They wanted to rise the High Breed up again. Only Giselle succeeded - the result is you. And you, blessed child, you'll live forever. But only one member isn't enough to re-breed a race, right? We need more members...we need...children.”

The cheeks of the beautiful woman lit. “You're wrong, aunt. My mother promised me...”

“Yes. She vowed not to match you with any mortal, so that your blood wouldn't be tainted. But you know you need to breed, daughter. There's no race without begetting. Maybe...perhaps she’s looking to create a new Nephilim, a companion for you. Would you like so, Blessed Daughter?” She concluded with a sarcastic twang.

She got the desired effect for her words. Bathsheba went furious. “A partner...a brother... _no!”_

“Come on, my child. There's nothing wrong with incest. Remember that demons were born of cosmogonist incest, which in the end...”

“Shut up!”

Gertrude stopped. Bathsheba's eyes burned with green fire. She, who was sweet as a caress, when angry could arouse genuine terror. “Only I’m Lilith’s Daughter. Only I'm the road to Paradise, as you said. There will be no one other than me. I'm the last that will live forever. There can't be another one.”

The old lady smiled. “Tell her. You can sweep her experiments with your hand, destroy her theory. You can bring us the Paradise. We don't need the High Breed, Blessed Daughter. You fulfilled all the prophecies. There will be no revival of the _Nephili_ , but the road to Paradise. But...ah! Make your stubborn mother understand.”

The beautiful woman was now pensive. “I know what I must do. My mother must not know anything. I’ll find the Shards, as I found the Periapt. And there’s still something I've to find, something which carries the Great Goddess' name.”

“Yes, my dear, yes...” Murmured the old lady. “We need it; we need the Scepter. With it you can open up the road.”

“The Scepter...”

 


	11. The Pit of Decay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a sketch of Lara descending on a pit, taken from Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness' concept art.

Selma spent two weeks at the phone getting access rights. After looking like she retired from archaeology, all were surprised to see her spirit revived after those years of mourning. More than one gave her difficulty, but it was enough for Lara to intervene. There’s no force on Earth that could resist Lara Croft’s charisma.

In all that time, no one saw Kurtis. It seemed the earth had swallowed him up - nothing unusual in his case, after all.

“Lara.” The Turkish girl murmured nervously as she reviewed for the umpteenth time a kilometric list with everything they needed. “We need logistical support.”

“Logistical...support?”

“Yes, we need technical support. Someone who knows how to tinker with computers and can get in touch via Internet or phone within seconds. Cappadocia is an isolated wilderness, you know, where we won't have many luxuries...I need an expert in computers and communications to keep us in touch with the rest of the world. Ivanoff has offered to be our remote library if we need information about the _Nephili_ \- in these years he's grown to become an expert... and of course, as there's no way out of Bran for him, we must overcome the barrier...well.” She concluded, hysterical. “Do you know someone who can lend us a favour?”

Lara was smiling for a while, inspired. “Sure. I know the perfect person.”

“Who?”

“He's named Zip.”

“Zip? That's not a name!”

“True, and he’s kind of a clown. But he'll do. Trust me.”

 

* * *

 

After two weeks, despite Selma’s despairing, everything was ready.

Zip appeared when they were about to leave, arriving late as usual. He got off the bus with a jump, carrying his new laptop, a backpack, and nonchalantly chewing gum. Selma was startled at seeing him: “Where did you find this guy? The Bronx _ghetto_?”

But as he approached, Zip saluted cheerfully: “Well, well, Lara! How long it’s been, girl! Seems like only yesterday we screwed with old Von Croy with the Iris robbing, huh? And you as pretty as ever!” With an intolerable brashness, the man smacked two sonorous kisses on Lara’s cheeks and then turned to look curiously at Selma: “Speaking about _beautiful women_ , what are my eyes looking at? From which harem has this odalisque escaped?”

“Name's Selma Al-Jazeera, and I'm your boss.” She replied sharply, outraged by his brazen attitude.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, the doll got spirit! Happy to be at your service, beautiful Selma.” He said, kissing her hand slyly.

“Told you.” Lara said moments later, while rummaging around in the Jeep. Selma didn't answer. When she looked at her, Lara found, in surprise, that she'd blushed to the ears.

 

* * *

 

It was the second time Lara visited Cappadocia, but its beauty hit her like the first time her eyes scanned over those impossible rock formations, those mounds of volcanic rock rubbed and worn down by time. Selma sat back and closed her eyes, remembering...unfortunately, not every memory was nice.

“So this is Cappadocia.” Zip muttered, while chewing gum, from the back seat. “And we'll have coverage here?”

“Hopefully.” Lara said, turning the wheel to avoid a cow cast on the road. “People live here, after all.”

The archaeological dig was terribly neglected. When they arrived, Selma rushed to air out all the barracks for accommodation. Lara came to the entrance of the necropolis, expecting to see the door barred. But to her surprise, the tunnel was open.

“I've been taking a look.”

Lara whirled. There _he_ was, lounging against his rusty motorbike. How had she not seen him before? His stealthiness was irritating.

“Selma was right.” He continued, puffing on his cigarette. “It was worth disappearing to see you running after us.”

She was determined not to let him irritate her, and said as if casually: “Where have you been?”

“Why, M'lady? Did you miss me?”

Tight-lipped, Lara held back an angry reply. He'd have to work harder to provoke her. Ostentatiously turning around, she prepared to enter the tunnel, when Zip’s cry stopped her: “Hey, Kurt! What the hell you doin' here?”

Lara turned around, shocked. Zip had trotted down the slope and warmly greeted Kurtis, who was also stunned to see him there. “Glad to see no Gorgon got ya! How's life?”

“Wait.” Lara interrupted. “You know each other?”

“That’s what I was gonna ask.” Kurtis muttered, looking from one to another.

“Who doesn’t know the beautiful Lara Croft? I had the honour of working with her a while back...you're a lucky girl to have a guy like Kurt! Now we're safe for sure hahaha...”

She didn't stay to hear the end of the sentence. Furious, she entered the tunnel, leaving them behind. _So they know each other! Just what I need!_

 

* * *

 

Soon the camp was placed on the dusty plain at the foot of Cappadocia's rock formations. A team of workers trained by volunteer students and young practitioners, masterfully conducted by Selma, were responsible for removing the dirt and clearing the way for Lara and her equipment. In total they were a group of over twenty people, including Zip, Selma, Kurtis and Lara. The hacker, convinced that all he'd have to do was to spend all day aside in front of his laptop screen, was shocked when also asked to dig.

“Whaaaaaat?” Protested Zip. “I'm a nerd, I ain’t no archaeologist, field work ain’t for me...”

“Seal it, Zip.” Answered both who heard him.

The first task was to clear the tunnels and galleries of the necropolis which had been sealed after the last campaign, and try to reach the legendary city below - the city of the _Nephili_ , where the Lux Veritatis once fought and defeated Eckhardt.

The first weeks were almost exclusively for the team of volunteers. Lara, who couldn't stand being idle, oversaw all work together with Selma, until everyone got used to having two rather than one patron. Kurtis was considerably helpful because of his muscular build. The only lazy one to guilt there was Zip, who spent many days having fun with his new laptop until Selma found an interesting task for him, consisting of carrying buckets of earth to sift them into a nearby creek.

At the third week they were able to access the first burial chamber. Lara stroked those concave niches and said to her partner: “Shouldn’t we remove them?”

“Too expensive.” Selma sighed. “And not sure if it’s safe...I prefer not to risk it.”

The volunteers watched the bare bodies in awe and some took notes excitedly. Lara saw a nearby tunnel and said: “Look, this corridor was where I met Kurtis after meeting you. And here we set the trap for Gunderson’s men.”

Selma laughed, remembering the details of that event.

“And where we found manticores.” A deep voice said behind her.

Lara's smile faded. “Do you think those bugs are still here?”

“Probably.” Kurtis said. “And that’s why it's better both Lara and me go together, just in case.” He added, looking at Selma.

Once again, Lara felt upset. Although Selma was officially the leader of the excavation, it should be assumed it was Lara who made the decisions there, _not_ Kurtis. However, she bit her tongue to hold a rough rebuke, since, after all, he'd been sensible.

 

* * *

 

Three days after an excavator announced they had located a tunnel, which abruptly ended in a black abyss where no light beam reached – fitting with the map mark - so it was time for Lara to get into action.

“You sure?” Selma murmured, helping Lara to adjust the last harnesses to descend through the hole, while some volunteers were illuminating them. The young archaeologist was doubtful because from that pit came such a horrible stench of putrefaction that no one wanted to imagine what could be rotting down there.

But things like that couldn't scare Lara. “Don’t worry.” She said. “We may be on the walls of the city. No time to lose.”

Kurtis, also equipped, was squatting by the edge of the hole, making everyone nervous with his reckless attitude. They didn't know Kurtis was able to fall from great heights without injuring himself, but even if they had known, they wouldn't have believed.

Lara finally stood up, satisfied, and cast her eyes around, smiling at those young workers pressed against the tunnel wall and covering their nose and mouth with cloths, unable to bear that grave stench of which she was more than used to. Among them she saw Zip, who seemed about to faint.

“Won’t you wish me luck?” She said sarcastically.

“With him as a partner, you're more than safe, babe.” He replied in the same tone.

Lara groaned at the inconvenience of the comment. Fortunately, Kurtis didn't seem to hear that. He was staring into the blackness of the pit, as if the strong smell didn't bother him either.

At the end, she'd her reasons to go down to the city, but which were Kurtis’ reasons? What was he looking for down there? Fighting the creatures of the deep? He was as tired of that as anybody could be.

Lara vowed to find out without seeming too interested in him. However, right there she was still the explorer, and with this comforting thought, she smiled self-sufficiently to all those present before descending into the pit. Kurtis climbed down parallel to her, and finally lost sight of everyone's tense faces: Zip, Selma, and the rest standing at the edge of the pit.

Meanwhile, the smell of death became stronger.

 

* * *

 

The descent lasted only ten minutes. When the rope ladder was over, both were drenched in sweat and felt twinges in their joints. The smell then was so pervasive they felt nauseated... and a strange sound reached their ears. A series of whistles and clicks, gurgling and all sorts of nasty whispers that made the sweat dry on their backs.

“What’s that?” Lara gasped. “Manticores?”

“No.” Said Kurtis. “Of course not...sounds like...bugs.”

“Bugs?” If she hadn't been tired, Lara would've laughed. Taking a flare from her backpack, she lit a torch and bent down... “ _Oh,_ Yuuuuuuuuuuck!”

They were bugs indeed. A lumpy, sticky mass of throbbing, comprising thousands of tiny creatures that crawled and walked, a sea of nasty insects and worms feeding on a rotting mass of...of several corpses.

“Oh, damn!” Lara gasped, containing a spasm.

Everything else seemed now in slow motion. She saw Kurtis jumping from the ladder and landing on _that_ \- he sank to his knees with a nasty gurgle. Like expecting a new body to feed from, a cloud of insects began to climb up his legs. But he, looking at her with some irony, reached over and above the rustle of insects and muttered: “C'mon, M'lady. We don't have all day.”

Lara saw herself taking his hand and jumping to land in that swamp. Almost immediately she began to notice the movement of hundreds of tiny paws, claws and suckers, nasty creatures that climbed up her legs and clung to her thighs. And the rotten stench that grew steadily. She held back another spasm.

Clutching his arm, Lara tried to advance in the midst of that putrid pit. There were human bodies – but also something far more terrible. At the dim light of the flare, her eyes wandered around. The pit was huge and there were not dozens, but hundreds of corpses in various stages of decomposition. She saw maggots squirming in empty eye sockets of skulls and mosquitoes sucking on fleshy jelly eyes staring into space with dismay; she saw cockroaches running around between the ribs of empty rib cages and huge moths flapping between other rotting bodies’ lips.

That was enough. She bent over herself and vomited.

“Lara!” She heard Kurtis murmuring in her ear. “We're sinking. You gotta move!”

Now that putrid mass reached their waist, and Lara didn't want to think about the noticeable slugs slipping into her clothes. She raised her pale face and saw, far away, an exit near the top of the pit. Drawing strength from their own weakness, they dragged away, tossing chunks of corpses and spiders from their arms and face. It couldn't be so far away...it couldn’t...they were almost there...

Kurtis was the first to feel the vibration beneath his feet. Of course, the thousand and one vibration of the wings of flies, mosquitoes and insects down there had distracted him, but now he was sure there was _something_ big under their feet, beneath the mass of piled up bodies.

He moved faster, pulling Lara to that exit, almost furiously throwing away those hundreds of bodies that blocked their road. The output was too high for them, half-submerged in that crap, to reach it. Before Lara could protest, Kurtis grabbed her waist and lifted her up until she reached the opening and grabbed its edge.

Then the creature crawling under their feet attacked.

 

* * *

 

Lara, hanging over the exit's edge, was trying to pull herself up when Kurtis felt the mass of corpses and insects growing and growing, swelling like a boil about to burst, giving way to an octopus-like long tentacle, which directly attacked Lara.

It brutally beat her like a slap in the face, picking her from the exit's frame and throwing her several feet backwards, to finish landing on her back over the putrid mass. As if waiting for that moment, another tentacle emerged between the maggot-covered bones and wrapped around Lara's waist, and pulling down, began to submerge her.

Lara's scream pierced the walls. Twisting like an eel, she tried to reach at least one gun holstered on her hips, but it was too slippery from slug mucus and she couldn't grasp it.

Kurtis couldn't move, as he was sunk to his chest, but it was enough to take out the Chirugai and sank one of its blades in the bulbous flesh of another tentacle that had sprouted from his left - for the creature, angry, grabbed him and threw him to the other side of the chamber, only this time he struck the wall and fell on a pile of bones.

He got up and ran as fast as he could towards Lara, whose head was just the only thing visible, and the only reason she hadn't sunk completely was because her squirming and kicking made it difficult for that thing to suction her.

Kurtis’ arms sank at her side to hold her by the shoulders and pulled her with all his strength. Between him pulling her up and _that thing_ pulling her down, Lara felt like she was going to be tore in two. However, the possibility of sinking into the disgusting mass panicked her. She looked at Kurtis’ face, covered in sweat, and had the feeling he was struggling with something more than his physical strength.

Finally, the tentacle seemed to lose its grip on her. Flipping, Kurtis took her out. “ _Run!”_

Lara didn't need to be asked twice - she darted back to the exit, but then the whole pit stirred and began to sink, dragging corpses and vermin with it. Lara could see, in the corner of her eye, what was happening and let out a cry of horror. By the side of the chamber appeared a series of huge, sharp blades she quickly identified as teeth, a row of huge teeth which began to rise on both sides while the mass of bodies was slowly sinking.

The creature who had been dozing under its own victims was now closing its huge jaws to swallow what it couldn't before its long slumber - and wanted to swallow them too. It wouldn't let them go.

Kurtis understood this very well, since, as every time he'd faced creatures like those, _he could hear the creature's thoughts_. And this one, normally satisfied with corpses, was going to devour them out of pure hatred and resentment for them jogging on its jaws; and although it was tired of rotting flesh, it was going to gobble them anyway.

He felt the flow of its violent thoughts and fought against them. In silence, he confronted the creature, using only his mind and his ability to speak with the thought, trying to control that thing which tirelessly intended to devour Lara first.

_Let her go_ , he ordered with all his might. _Forget her. She’s not for you. Let her go! Leave her alone!_

He felt the monster's wrath, its resentment. His will, human and superhuman at the same time, was stronger than the monster's. The tentacles relaxed around Lara's legs and released her. She turned to look at him, surprised. But moments later, she again rushed to the exit using one of those rough teeth as footstool. She reached the edge and finally climbed it, sweaty and exhausted. Already in the tunnel, she turned and saw her partner also trying to reach out - but the creature was willing to let out one victim, but not both. Two tentacles had clung to Kurtis and dragged him down, away from safety.

“ _Kurtis!”_ Lara shouted.

He looked at her and shook his head with exhaustion. Suddenly, Lara felt as if she was back at the Strahov, and the creature was Boaz and Kurtis himself was again about to sacrifice himself to help her escape while he stayed...to die.

Mechanically, she grabbed the rifle still attached to her back - how could she forget it? Controlling her trembling arms, she pointed with accuracy to one of the tentacles dragging Kurtis, and fired. The bullet pierced the viscous meat and the whole limb shrank. There was a high-pitched squeal that seemed to come from the thing hidden under the rotting mass, and the tentacle let Kurtis go. Lara didn't stop then - she shot two, three, four times, until Kurtis was free and calling back his trusty blade - which was nailed to the wall, broke through cutting the re-emerging tentacles, and reached the exit.

Now the huge jaws were nearly closed, finishing the process that monster had developed slowly. Kurtis jumped up, pushing with all his might, but injured his leg on the edge of one of those teeth. But he was now safe - Lara grabbed his proffered hand and raised him, then he dropped next to her.

Down in the pit of decay, the two rows of teeth were closed, that huge mouth crushing and grinding now with an awful sound the remainder of bones, rotting flesh, and insects. Pale, Lara stared a long time at that horror, until Kurtis gently pulled her away and they retreated to a hidden corner of the tunnel, where they rested against the wall.

“What was that?” She murmured after a while, touching her back, looking for a slimy caterpillar that crawled by her neck.

Kurtis leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. His leg was bleeding through his slightly torn pants and some flies came to rest on the wound, but he didn't seem to notice. “Not a clue, Lara. Can't know everything.”

She leaned to shoo the flies - then she twisted, disgusted.

“God...I think I've bugs all over.”

“Don't ask where I’ve one...” Kurtis whispered, then laughed as if this was very funny. Then he fell asleep, exhausted more for the mental effort in dealing with that creature than for physical fatigue. Before losing consciousness, he heard Lara talking to herself: “Can't be...some corpses were fresh...people who'd been here recently...how could they...how did they get here?”


	12. The Path of the Crucified

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's image has been taken from Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness concept art.

The passage aperture was low and narrow, so they had to move at a crouch. Kurtis was too big and it hurt his arms and legs, but he didn't complain. As they arrived at an extension, his elbows and knees were raw under his tattered clothes - partly because he'd to go first, being bigger than Lara, to clear the tunnel and make way for her. Of course she didn't bother to thank him - the situation in the putrid pit was left behind and she was again cold and proud, dignified in her permanent irritation towards him.

A blast of cold air caressed their sweaty faces.

“There must be something over there.” Lara said as she advanced toward the tunnel end, from which came a strange light.

“Be careful.” Kurtis said, sucking a bloody knuckle.

Lara reached the hole edge; looked around...and felt ecstatic. “Oh, God.”

Before them there was a vast city carved from a cave, whose boundaries couldn't be seen. Tall, slender buildings spread out over different levels, rocks and plains, but none reached the floor, which was run by waterfalls and water furrows to converge in a huge lake at the gates of the city. Some buildings had been excavated in the rock and descended to emerge from the walls to liaise with the other neighbourhoods with bridges and spiralling staircases. The city should have been dark, but was in fact glowing with a ghostly light coming from the waters, having its greater focus on the lake.

Lara had been in beautiful and vast places, but she'd never seen something so immense and solemn. The whole city was quiet and the only sound was the murmur of the waters. She shuddered. “It’s wonderful.” She mused, closing her eyes.

“I'd say it's creepy.” Kurtis said. He didn't seem impressed by that dark and placid beauty. “Lives up to its name.”

“Eden? I think not. Eden was a garden...” Lara got serious when she heard Kurtis' deep laughing. She turned to face him.

His blue eyes sparkled with fun. “Yeah, M'lady...they called it _Eden_. A euphemism, isn't it? We, however, called it _Tenebra_.”

“We...?”

“The Order. The Lux Veritatis.”

Tenebra. An appropriate name for this city of lights and shadows.

“Well, Tenebra.” Lara muttered. “Or whatever your name is. Here we go.”

 

* * *

 

“I’mma say it again, she should have taken my communicator.” Zip muttered, pissed off. “We would've been in contact this whole time, as when we raided old Von Croy’s building. But noooo, she didn't want to, of course. “ _I like to do the job alone”_ , _"no, I don’t want you chatterin’ in my ear."_ He said, imitating Lara's clear voice. “Gotcha, it’s her business - damn her and her hobbies.”

“Well, they might want to have some...privacy.” Selma suggested, while examining some maps near his desk.

“Really?” He said. “What for? Holding hands with Kurt?”

“Maybe.” The Turkish archaeologist murmured, mysterious, as the man turned toward her.

Selma was sitting on a stool, smiling as her eyes passed over the map. Her long hair was tucked under a yellow turban on her head, but what was left fell loose in dark locks around her face. Dressed in old jeans and a shirt knotted at the waist, she was more appealing than any nicely attired woman. Zip realized he'd been looking at her in silence for a while and hastened to add: “Whaddya mean?”

She raised her black eyes and smiled, unable to resist gossip. “Zip, there are many things you don’t know about those two.”

He looked stunned, his expression totally stupid, which she attributed to his confusion over what she'd just told him. “Hold up, princess...did I miss some kinda drama?” _That's it, Zip, keep it up. You masking perfectly, kid_ , he congratulated himself.

Selma brought her sight up again...and then her smile faded. Zip whirled and to his horror, he found a person dressed as a mountaineer who was pointing a gun at his very face.

“Get up.” The man ordered. “Take off your headset and leave it on the keyboard.”

Zip obeyed while another armed man forced Selma to stand up. The hacker rushed to stand beside her. “Who the hell are you?”

“None of your bloody business, fucking _nero_. You,” said the first one, pointing to Selma. “Who's responsible for this place?”

“Me.” She replied, trying to keep her voice firm.

The gunman looked at her incredulously, as if not expecting that frail-looking young woman to be the authority here, but he shrugged. “Good. Now call them all and order them to get into their tents and barracks. There are many of us here, and you wouldn’t want to see a slaughter, right?”

Selma nodded - she looked calm but her heart was pumping wildly in her chest.

“Agreed. Do as I say and nobody will get hurt. Otherwise, we'll kill them all, starting with this one.” The armed man concluded, pointing to Zip.

 

* * *

 

Lara felt the sweat freeze on her skin when reaching the ground by a rope. The path to the city stretched beyond a long way to cross the huge stone bridge separating the lake from the walls around the city.

But something made her stop - she hadn't seen that before because of the height at which they had beheld the city at first, but now it was before their very eyes. Along the wide path leading to the city, on both sides the road was strewn with crosses - and there were people nailed to those crosses.

Ancient Romans used to crucify slaves and criminals out on the roads between cities. It was said the crosses of the condemned in Spartacus' revolt had spread from Rome to the end of Italy. Now, that dreadful picture was repeated at the gates of that tremendous city.

It was long ago, however, when these unfortunates had died. They were just skeletons, covered with some shreds of clothing and dry skin, not like the juicy bodies rotting in the pit - these people had long been nailed here.

Again, the question was repeated, silent, on Lara's lips. _What horrible comedy is this? Who are these people?_ “Kurtis...?” She muttered, turning to look at her partner.

But he didn't listen - he was at the foot of a cross, watching in silence the dislocated skull’s jaw, contorted in a grotesque grimace of horror. She called him again - then she shuddered at what she read in his face, pale and upset. “This is what I came for, Lara.” He whispered amid the great silence. “I knew they were all dead, but I didn't expect to find them...like this.”

“What? Who?” She asked, confused.

A bitter smile crossed Kurtis’ face, and then he pointed to the title nailed on the cross’ head. There was a written word. A surname. _Montsaint_. And next to it, the sharpened anchor, Lux Veritatis’ emblem. Lara understood then. “The Lux Veritatis?” She exclaimed. “It's them, Kurtis? The last ones...?”

“Yes.” He said - his deep voice having a point of tension. “Lots of people who I knew as a child. Look, there's Clapton. And there, the old Bartory. And Longtom, and that one next to him, his wife, and that child there...” Kurtis began to cross the row of crosses while reciting the names on the dusty placards. He'd met almost everyone - those unfortunates had been for him like parents and teachers, those women had also been his family, those children had played with him at one point...

Lara followed him, feeling her body stiffened with horror. She couldn't understand what kind of ceremony, what kind of macabre ritual of bloody revenge had led to that genocide. Those empty skulls, only recognizable by the titles, had been living, breathing persons, had been _his_ people. And now they were all dead and he was the last one. What could she say? Was she able to feel that void and dull pain - the pain of being virtually alone on earth, the pain of losing all your people? She bit her lip - suddenly, she felt bad. Who was _she_ to judge him? Why did she need to behold that horror to realize there were deeper causes than her mere selfishness? How could she treat him so bad, if she'd never felt that sorrow, that loss?

They walked in silence the way to the city. Kurtis' voice trailed off soon, sore and exhausted, and only moved his lips, saying one by one hundred and twenty names on those signs. One hundred and twenty crosses. One hundred and twenty lives uprooted. Neither women nor children were respected.

At one point Lara heard again Kurtis’ soft voice. “This is Eckhardt’s masterpiece. This is the reason I left the Legion to take revenge. He ordered to kill them all. I'd always suspected they could be here. And I...” He turned and looked at his partner with the same bitter face. “I should have been with them. Both me and my mother. They left two crosses to nail. We escaped - and it was thanks to him.” With a weary gesture, he pointed to the last cross, the largest, which stood beside the stone bridge along the ramparts of the city.

Lara came slowly. The man who'd died on that cross had apparently been tall and strong, by the bones' constitution. She squinted to read the _titulus_ over his head, and then she recoiled in horror.

In that title, the carved name was unmistakable:

 

KONSTANTIN HEISSTURM

 

_Konstantin. Konstantin. Konstantin._ Lara repeated that name several times to make sure it was _that_ name and not another. Finally, she turned slowly to look with deep sorrow at Kurtis. But he wasn't looking at her - he'd raised his eyes to the skull’s empty sockets.

For the first time in so many years, father and son looked at each other.

 

* * *

 

“Sit down.” Ordered the man, pushing Selma into a chair. Zip was a little behind, sitting in a corner of the tent.

After making the scared volunteers enter their tents, a mob of armed troops had taken and cordoned off the camp. They weren't mercenaries nor criminals, however, for their mountain outfit was refined and impeccable after all. Selma was terrified and neither she nor Zip had mentioned Lara or Kurtis – both were their only hope now. The man watching them seemed to have a lot of authority there. But it wasn't the leader for he said: “In no time _il signore_ Monteleone will come, and you'll tell him what is this roost, huh, _ragazza?”_

Of course, that accent! They were Italian. _Mafiosi_ , perhaps? But what could they want from them?

The hitman was looking at her again and Selma shuddered. He had stopped to stare at her as if he hadn't seen a woman for months. “Wow, wow, you're pretty for a Turk.” He whispered. “How old are you?”

Selma didn't answer.

“You're a bit rude. But hey, you're about twenty-something. Archaeologist, right? I understood your people put veils on you and keep you at home.” Upon receipt of a new wave of silence, the killer walked up to her. With a smug smile he flipped the yellow handkerchief off her head, and Selma’s black hair spilled down around her shoulders. Enthralled, he took a long strand of hair and brought it up to his nose to inhale its aroma. Selma jerked her head and slipped her soft hair out from between his fingers. The bully growled: “You’re not very loving. Come on, cooperate.” He grabbed her roughly by the chin, his fingers sinking into Selma’s opaque, soft skin, forcing her to face him. She struggled but then he increased the pressure on her jaw, and bent to kiss her.

“Leave her alone!” The man looked up. Zip was up and watched him angrily.

“Sit back down, asshole, or I'll bust your brains!” He slid his fingers around Selma's neck and grabbed her tightly, digging his fingers into her warm hair. She tried to break free again, but his captor raised her from her chair with a sudden jerk of hair that drew from her a cry of pain, and violently pulled her towards him.

“I said leave her alone, mothafucka!” Zip yelled, and pounced on the man who, caught by surprise, let the girl go and staggered backwards. Zip pushed him again and knocked him down. But the other was an expert fighter and within seconds he straightened up and mobbed him a hard kick to the hacker's stomach, which knocked him against a table. Drawing his gun, the man pointed directly at Zip's head and roared: “Say _addio!”_

Selma screamed in horror.

“What's going on here?” An elegant voice brought everything to a hold. The canvas of the tent was now up and a man of delicate constitution entered, dressed in brown and with grey hair. However, he wasn't very old, being about fifty, and had a proud aristocratic bearing.

Seeing him, the gunman lowered the gun and immediately saluted. “ _Benvenutto, signore.”_

The other looked at Zip, half knocked to the ground, writhing in pain, and the dishevelled young Turkish woman, with one arm protectively surrounding him. It was enough to figure out what had happened. “What were you doing, Sciarra?” He said coldly. “I ordered you not to harm anyone.”

“ _Signore_ , I...”

“I know you very well, _amico mio_. Next time you want a woman, go to Maddalena and she'll provide you with one. But this _signorina_ is under my protection, okay?”

The so-called Sciarra nodded, frowning, and left the tent. The other turned his gaze to them calmly and said with gentle courtesy: “ _Scusate_ , sorry. I hope your friend is fine.” He said, looking at Zip, who was still on the floor. “I'm Daniele Monteleone, and you are...?”

“Selma Al-Jazeera.” She said hoarsely, helping Zip get up.

“Mmmm...Al-Jazeera is generally an Arabic surname, and you’re Turkish.”

“My father was Saudi.” She murmured, surprised. “What do you want from us? Why are your men here?”

He didn't answer right away, but looked around, puzzled, and then asked the question that troubled Selma: “So, where’s _signorina_ Croft?”


	13. Two Lives Intertwined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Betherite for the amazing Lara and Kurtis edit :)

The path of the crucified had been left behind. Lara wanted to say _something_ to Kurtis - but no words came out from her. She'd suggested to bury the remains, but that sounded preposterous. Where could they dig one hundred twenty-one graves? Then she asked if he wanted to bury his father.

“Why?” He sighed with abandonment. “They nailed him there. He died as he lived. No tomb would do better justice to him than that cross.”

Lara looked at him in horror. Maybe Kurtis was losing his mind, but she didn’t insist - they had to go on, although a shiver went down her spine imagining what could be there worse than the putrid pit or the crucified.

The city no longer seemed so attractive - yet there it was, wrapped in a stunning beauty. Nevertheless, maybe Tenebra wasn't the most appropriate name, because although the buildings were carved into black rock, the light-blue water tinted everything in silver. Overall, the whole city seemed to glow like liquid crystal. The architecture was fine and elegant, sinuous as its former inhabitants.

They left the bridge and had reached the main gate when Lara noticed an inscription carved on the lintel of the entrance. Trying to take Kurtis out of his melancholic reverie, she asked him to translate that Nephilim language which only he knew. “Just says: _Until Paradise is returned to us.”_

It had a lot of sense, argued Lara. Until they could return to heaven, Eden would be their home. Kurtis, instead, shook his head and said: “I don’t think so. The _Nephili_ were the offspring of fallen angels. They had no paradise to return to, as they had never left it.”

Lara shrugged. They passed through the doors, leaving the bridge decorated with huge statues of angels, each with its name, as Kurtis translated: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, and the cursed Samael, the Lucifer of the biblical tradition.

The lake shone blue and the light blinded them. Lara leaned over the edge of the bridge to examine that luminous water until Kurtis, pulling her gently with his arm, reminded her that she was risking too much.

Once inside the city streets, Lara forced herself not to check building by building, in order to not spend more time than expected. Everything was beautiful but empty, dust and cobwebs covered all the interiors. Tenebra, or Eden, had long become a dead city. Nothing and no one was there.

Lara, followed by Kurtis like an automaton, arrived finally to a large square. At the streets was arranged some kind of circular canals that conducted the water and formed a ring around the square. “Of course!” She suddenly exclaimed, excited. “The water's not an ornament or a pool of urban living: it is, quite simply, a lighting system for the city. No candles or lamps, nor anything that serves to turn on light - water was what illuminated them!”

Her partner didn't answer. In the end, after all, who could think of _Nephili’s_ lighting systems after leaving behind an actual cemetery of slaughtered people?

But Lara was still an explorer, and all that kind of stuff fascinated her. She leaned toward the water stream, determined to take a sample. She took the water bottle from her pack and emptied it without hesitation, then she filled it with that luminous water and kept it happily.

_Crack!_

She turned, startled, and then noticed that Kurtis had disappeared. How was it she couldn't keep him in sight? But what was that sound? Pulling out a gun, she walked into a large building nearby, maybe a temple, a marketplace, or a manor. She reached the door frame and looked inside, but saw only darkness and a silver flash in the background. What had cracked couldn't be wood, because the whole city was carved from the rock and not a single piece of wood, any doors or windows or glass, could be found there. Only stone.

Lara walked along the wall on the inside of the room, heading for the silver flash. She groped her backpack again and lit a flare. The circular room was empty, except for the beautiful statue of a female angel. This one, unlike the male archangels on the bridge, was naked and had her long hair loose, huge wings and thin arms risen. Despite being completely carved in marble - and its whiteness contrasted with the blackness of the walls - it seemed about to take flight, with only one foot resting on a pedestal, leaning gracefully forward. Her body was coiled with small serpents, surrounding the breasts, waist and thighs. On her left arm she carried a short silver scepter, flashing in the dark.

The flare was consumed and Lara lit another. She climbed up the statue - which was much bigger than her, and reached to the angel's neck, stretching an arm towards the rod.

“Lara, no!”

She jumped, startled, and hesitated, about to fall off the statue. She grabbed just in time onto the slender waist of the angel.

Kurtis was standing in the middle of the room.

“Why _on earth_ did you do that?” Lara snapped, furious. “First you disappear and now you scare me to death! Why...?”

“Don’t touch that.” He warned, rapidly approaching her.

Lara frowned. Who was he to say what she could or could not do? Nuh-uh! He would find out who ruled here... Her fingers stretched back to the beautiful silver scepter.

Almost instantly, Kurtis climbed the statue and with considerable gall, grabbed Lara around the waist and tried to pull her away from there. But she had already taken the scepter, and with a squeal, took it out of the angel's hand.

There was a flash. Lara felt like falling back, but she didn't let the scepter go. Then, a blinding light surrounded her, and passed out.

 

* * *

 

_At first it was like a white curtain spread before him. Then he saw himself on those snowy mountains, swept by the winds. However, he couldn't feel the wind's cold whip, as he wasn't really there - even though he saw quite clearly what was happening before his eyes._

_There was a plane crash a few meters away, its remains still smouldering. And through the blizzard of snow, he saw a figure dragged away from the debris and laying half torn down in the snow. She was, more or less, a young woman of about twenty years._

_He walked slowly towards her – not sure how, since he couldn't feel his feet sinking into the snow, but he arrived soon at her side. The girl was slightly injured, but didn't seem serious - a few bruises and a broken arm at most, which she was holding while moaning, with her face buried in the snow. The hair, a golden brown tone, had been loosened and flew around her bowed head, while shivering cold and numb with pain. She slowly lifted her face, and overwhelmed, he recognized her: it was Lara! A young Lara, on the threshold between adolescence and adulthood, a terrified Lara who looked wide-eyed at the burned and shattered plane as she sobbed quietly:_ “ _All of them...dead! Am I alone?”_

_He reached out to touch her, to tell her she wasn't alone, but his hand couldn't reach her nor could she see_ _him. That had happened so long ago, and he hadn't been there then - as he wasn't really there now._

_Lara, injured, began to crawl through the snow. Her skirt and stockings were ripped and her jacket torn. She wouldn't survive in the cold. But she still crawled slowly, without looking back, pressing her lips together hard, tears bathing her face...._

 

* * *

 

_At first she saw only darkness. Then the shadows began to take shape. She heard a persistent leak in the hole and knew that the air must be moist and breathless, but she still felt nothing. Her eyes wandered over the walls of stone and she concluded that it must be a kind of dungeon or old cell._

_In one corner, there was a mother huddled with her son. At first she didn't recognize them well, because the woman had dark skin and was well-covered with furs. A nice dreamcatcher, which she remembered seeing before - ah, but where?  hung around her neck. The boy was still very young, not more than 6 years old and not really alike to the woman – he had dark hair and blue eyes._

_Suddenly they heard a violent blow from the wooden ceiling. The kid trembled and let out a groan, so the mother rushed to cover his mouth._

_A deep, dark voice echoed in the upper chamber. She recognized it immediately: it was Eckhardt!_

“ _You're not being of much help, my friend.” Whispered the winding Black Alchemist’s voice. “Give me both, mother and child, and I’ll set you free.”_

_After a few moments, she heard a cry, a gurgle, and the quavering voice of an old man who replied:_ “ _I don't...I don't know where...”_

_There was another violent commotion and then a sickening crunch of bones being broken. The scream of the unfortunate tore the walls. The mother closed her eyes and began to pray silently, while pressing the child against her chest._

“ _I'm willing to forgive a life.” continued Eckhardt, “After all, you, old Master, you’re not dangerous to me. But I need that mother and her child. Moreover, I could even leave the mother alone, if you beg, but give me the child.”_

“ _No... I can’t...”_

_Another brutal blow. More broken bones. The kid, drenched in sweat, was trembling in the arms of his mother, while she fixed her eyes at the wooden ceiling, from which fell a gentle dust._

“ _The child, the child...” Eckhardt insisted._

“ _I can’t!”_

_And then the patient Alchemist, inflexible, ordered to prolong the torture for a long time. But the Master, the old Master, who'd taken that mother into his home and had played with the child in his arms, said not a word. Finally, Eckhardt killed him..._

 

* * *

 

“ _What's this?”_

_Lara, clad in the thick fur of Tibetan natives, looked with troubled expression at Zhong Yi, the hunter who'd rescued her while she was semi-conscious and had taken to Tokakeriby’s village, near the mountain. The man had just thrown a heavy gun at her feet._

“ _This?” Said Zhong Yi, revealing toothless gums with a horrible grimace. “This is a gun!”_

_Lara's brown eyes sparkled and for a moment her aristocratic manners came out again._ “ _I know it's a gun, silly! But why give it to me?”_

“ _To use it, no doubt.” He gave a dry laugh and threw down the birds he'd caught that morning._

_She was furious at him._ “ _I'm not going to hunt with you! I want to return to England!”_

_Another abrupt laugh._ “ _But, my little fool, you'll never again be in England if you don’t start firing that thing! Do you understand?”_

“ _Obviously not! “_

“ _You're so naive! Do you really think the plane will come for you here in Tokakeriby? No, my little fool, if you want to return to your homeland, you have to cross Nepal, you have to reach Kathmandu. And once there, do as you can manage! But_ _until we get there, how the hell do you defend yourself, eh? How do you deal with_ _wolves, bandits, huh? Do you think they will respect you because of your pretty face?”_

_Lara blushed with rage as the Sherpa mocked her. She got up; ready to leave the cabin, but Zhong Yi stopped her with a hand gesture._ “ _Stop right there. We'll walk to the border of Nepal. But once there, you've to make the journey alone, and if you can't shoot a gun to defend yourself, my precious, then any animal or person you come across will tear you apart. Now take that gun, I'll teach you to shoot like a man should do.”_

“ _But I don’t want to kill anyone...” She whispered softly._

_For a moment, the hunter was silent. Then he again showed his ugly smile._

“ _Oh my dear, but you'll have to kill sooner or later, if you want to survive. This is not England. Here life is paid with blood. The first time you kill a man, you'll suffer. You'll stop sleeping. But trust me...as you get used to it... you’ll like it...yes, you’ll like...you’ll like it, you'll like it!” And burst into grotesque laughter, as the girl, pale, went up. Frowning, she took the heavy gun and stood to face her stern teacher._

 

* * *

 

_Again, she saw the woman who was a mother. Now that she saw her at daylight, she noticed she was a Native American, not sure of which tribe. She was beautiful with such elaborate hair, artistically woven in a lovely way. She seemed a little more adult, but glowed with happiness. The appalling scene in the dungeon appeared to be left behind and now she smiled widely to the man coming towards her._

_For a moment, Lara felt her heart skip a beat when she saw that burly man looked a lot like Kurtis: same skin, same hair, same eyes. The woman threw herself into his arms and kissed him on the mouth._ “ _I've waited so long...” She whispered, eyes full of tears._

“ _I couldn't come before.” He answered. “How many years...?”_

“ _Fifteen.”_

“ _Fifteen, Marie...fifteen. But I'm here.” He frowned. “Where is he?”_

_The woman smiled, pleased._ “ _You won’t recognize him. He’s so tall now.” And turning towards the house, she shouted:_ “ _Kurtis!”_

_Then Lara saw him, and felt a glimmer of recognition. He was young indeed, about seventeen. He'd only a hint of beard on his face and showed his father’s characteristic expression - a frown. They were like two drops of water._

“ _Well, well.” Said Konstantin Heissturm, jokingly. “Last time I saw you, you were still in diapers.”_

_That comment didn't amuse the young teen at all, who kept looking at the stranger who was his father. It was the first time he saw him, but no doubt it was him. Sometimes it seemed he was a legend, that his mother had invented that Lux Veritatis hero who made the impossible and possible for the survival of the Order and liquidate the Cabal - but in the end, he was real, there he was._

_Although he'd taken a long time without seeing his wife, the most important for him was his son. So he rounded his shoulder with his strong arm - ignoring the sign of retreat, by sheer distrust, made by the boy - and took him aside to talk with him._ “ _Your mother told me by letter._ ” _He whispered. “You have the Gift.”_

_The Gift - so they called those horrible powers that had driven him crazy for some time. Crystals exploding when he was angry, tables turning alone, situations and people that only he could see through time and space. The Gift._

“ _It's time to teach you how to control it.” Konstantin interjected, determined. “If not, you won’t ever truly be one of us.”_

“ _What if I don't want to be one of you?” Said he in adolescent rebellion._

_The man turned slowly, and Lara shuddered, because he showed the same sardonic grin which years later his son would imitate with complete accuracy._

“ _You can't reject the Gift. It’s not a present, it’s a must. We've been protecting you all these years for it. Remember the old Master, who died to keep you and your mother away from the Black Alchemist. Your mother and me have sacrificed our lives for you and the entire Order. In fact, you should already know that.”_

“ _I know how to handle firearms.” Kurtis insisted, stubborn. “That's enough.”_

_Konstantin laughed again._ “ _That's fine for average men. But for you it’s only the beginning. Now you must learn to use...this.” And with his index finger tapped the boy's forehead. “When you learn to use this well, you'll be more powerful than any firearm in this world.”_

 

* * *

 

“ _Lara, I think you've lost your mind!”_

_Outraged, Lord Croft twirled across his luxurious office, glancing at his_ _daughter, who stood in front of him with defiant eyes. She was dressed in trousers and a jacket, an outfit hardly considered appropriate for a lady of her age, as well as that brave mare air which they tried in vain to control since her teens._

_Sitting in a chair, the delicate Lady Croft, her mother, looked open-mouthed at her daughter, wondering what had gone wrong in her education, so that the result would be that._

“ _I made my decision.” Lara said, crossing her arms, another gesture too masculine for the firm's high society etiquette._

“ _No, no, and no!” Roared the lord, out of himself. “No, Lara, you can’t do this to us, you can’t betray us like this, and if you do, you're no longer our daughter...”_

“ _Enough, Henshingly!” Murmured the mother in a low voice, and turning to Lara, she spoke softly. “Lara, dear, I understand that incident in the Himalayas has upset you. You've been hungry and cold and you had to do horrible things to survive...but now you're back at home with us, and we won't let anything bad happen to you again...”_

“ _You don’t understand.” Lara said, through clenched teeth. “I'm fine. I want to be an archaeologist, to travel as an explorer throughout the world.”_

“ _That's no life for girls like you!” Cried the lady, shocked. “That dirty, low paid work is only for paupers, for tomboys who spend their lives wearing trousers_ _and sleeping without a roof! We, Lara, we've raised you to be a worthy woman, a lady!”_

“ _Well, I don't want to be such a_ _thing anymore!”_

“ _Remember your oath...” Lord Croft hissed softly._

_Lara turned to her father, daring him, livid, accusing._

“ _Remember your oath.” He repeated. “You gave your word to marry the son of Lord Farrington. Will it seem nice to him to see his wife going_ _tumbling around the world like a prostitute?”_

“ _I'm not marrying Farrington.”_

_The father slammed his fist against the table, making the glass bulb vibrate._ “ _You're crazy! How could we break such a commitment? Do you want your mother and me to drop our heads in shame? How can we present ourselves to society with your attitude?”_

“ _That wedding,_ ” _Lara continued, trying to stay calm, “was decided without my approval.”_

“ _Lara!” Lady Croft protested. “He’s the best match for you! We've worked hard for that commitment! And you gave us your word!”_

“ _Yes…yes, I did.” She sighed. “But I don’t want to get married anymore. Go and tell Farrington to look for another woman for his son. I already told you what I want to do with my life.”_

“ _Never!” Yelled Lord Croft. “I prefer to see you dead and buried rather than wearing man’s clothes and sleeping in the dust at the other end of the world!”_

_Lara looked at him coldly for a moment. Months ago, before the accident, she would have still trembled before him. But not anymore. Not anymore._

_She turned and strode away, heading for the door._

_“It's_ _your fault!” She heard her mother moan, turning to her husband. “You gave her permission to go on that adventure with Von Croy, you filled her head with that nonsense!”_

_When Lara grabbed the doorknob, she heard her_ _father saying:_ “ _Lara Croft, this is your last chance. Cross that door and I swear on my grave I will never call you my daughter again.”_

_She hesitated only a moment. Then, without looking back, opened the door with a jerk and left, closing it with a slam._

_In her chair, Lady Croft began to mourn._

 

* * *

 

_One shot. And other. And another._

_Kurtis looked down and saw a red dye on the fabric of his shirt. He touched his chest and knew he'd been shot. Before bending, he felt the wound and knew that the bullet had exited_ _from behind, towards the shoulder, without damaging the lung. He'd been lucky._

_Collapsing on the floor, he dropped the gun and closed his eyes, while shrapnel was raining all around. Why was he there? Why?_

“ _Hey, hey man!”_

_He opened his eyes. There was Clarkson, looking at him with his pale Yankee face, as he dropped his gun running and knelt beside him._ “ _Damn, Trent! You've been fucked up, huh?” He examined the wound a few moments and said. “C'mon, it's nothing! Get up!”_

_Flipping him, he made him stand up. Kurtis saw the blood spattered over the arms of his companion, who began to pull him._

“ _Let's go, Trent. For a while now we’ve all been in retreat. That Iraqi pig will know about us, you'll see. When we return with reinforcements, we'll really mess things up…” And then his face brightened._ “ _Hey, look, there are our guys! Hey, you!”_

_He released Kurtis and took a few steps away from him, who, too weak to move, remained in his place; covering the bullet hole with his dirty hand._

_Clarkson didn't get very far -just a few meters, and then everything exploded._

_Kurtis woke up hours later in the infirmary of the base. He opened his eyes; finding the sergeant major of his regiment looking at him._

“ _Soldier Trent?” He muttered._

_He nodded weakly._

“ _How lucky, soldier. You and Clarkson were too close to...”_

“ _How is he?”_

“ _Clarkson? He's dead. He stepped on a mine, poor guy.”_

_Kurtis closed his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he lost a friend, but he turned increasingly to feel that sense of abandonment. All died…except_ _him._

_The sergeant peered him with his stern look, rubbing his stubble._ “ _How old are you, soldier Trent?”_

“ _Twenty.”_

“ _For God’s sake, the hell are you doing here? What crime did you commit?”_

_He said that because the men who served in the Foreign Legion used to be criminals who exchanged prison sentences or even death sentences for a dedicated military service._

“ _I rebelled and disobeyed my superiors.” He said with a grimace, recalling his father's face._

_The sergeant raised an eyebrow. That didn’t sound like a crime an obedient and faithful soldier like Kurtis Trent would commit. Of course he'd no right to pry further into his crimes if he didn't want to tell him._

“ _Well._ ” _He said, rising heavily on the bed. “I'm sorry for Clarkson, but that's life. War is shit, Trent, and we’re all fools to clean up this shit while our bosses sit their rich arses in armchairs. But I feel even sorrier for you; I’ve just been informed they've run out of morphine. You'll have a bad night, kid, but...” He fumbled in his old jacket and pulled out a flask and threw it to the patient. Kurtis caught it on the fly._ “ _The best Russian vodka!” The sergeant crooned with a festive voice. “Two drinks and you won't even remember your own mother, Trent. I hope you’ll recover soon.”_

_Kurtis returned the military salute - which seemed kinda ridiculous when lying on a stretcher, and spent several hours staring at the ceiling. In the end, when the pain of his wound became unbearable, he opened the cap of the flask and brought it to his lips._

 

* * *

 

He opened his eyes slowly, and the first breath was painful, as if what came into his lungs wasn't air, but fire. Lara was a few feet away, crouched against the wall, clutching the silver scepter in her right hand as she peered at him, frowning. “You!” She exclaimed. “Why did you do that?”

“What?” Kurtis muttered, rubbing his neck.

“You pounced on me and made me fall! Why the hell did you do that?”

“I only tried to stop you from fiddling with that damn rod!” He said, frowning.

The explorer watched him suspiciously, as she turned the rod with an elegant wave of her hand. “Well, you see, it doesn't burn. No thunder or lightning from the statue, nor has it has come to life to kill me. You're overreacting!”

“Could have been dangerous.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself?” She stood up and stood dominate him from her high stature. “Get away from me!” And she turned in disgust, as if repelled by him.

As she walked away, her heart pounding, Lara wondered if she wouldn't be losing her mind. Was it real what she had just seen? The dungeon, the mother and her child, the Legion on the battlefield? Was it Kurtis’ doing...or that damn rod’s fault?

She looked down. The beautiful silver rod, oddly shaped and finished in a strange scroll, seemed just what it was, a silver scepter.


	14. Daniele Monteleone

The wide and spacious tent canvas threw back with a slap. The woman who appeared before Monteleone could be none other than Lara Croft. She was dirty, her clothes torn and her hair dishevelled, but it was her, no doubt with that way she looked at him, as if he was a maggot.

“ _Signorina_ Croft! What a pleasure to finally meet you!” He got up, put down the Martini on the rocks he was sipping and shook the explorer's dusty hand with the finest of courtesies. “I'd kiss your hand if you’d remove that leather glove...”

“Who are you and why do you have this camp cordoned off?” Lara cut, with little wait to talk.

It had been a bold operator who, having fled from his tent, waited for them at the pit edge, eager to report what happened. Furious, Lara wanted to go stand up to Monteleone immediately, but Kurtis advised to put the scepter in a safe place first. However, after coming out of the excavation, they had been surrounded by Monteleone’s men and escorted to his tent.

“Don’t you want to take a seat?” Said the _mafioso_ , making a sweeping gesture towards a comfortable chair next to him. “Your friend can also sit if he wishes.”

Kurtis had just entered and studied the situation with a grim face. He looked at Zip and Selma, who sat hunched in a corner. The Turkish girl gave him a desperate glance as if saying: _Don’t trust his courtesy!_   Kurtis nodded slightly.

“I won't sit until you answer.” Lara insisted, not looking away from the handsome fifty-year-old man.

“Let me then explain myself. My name is Daniele Monteleone and I own a large restoration company in Sicily. I received news about an archaeological dig under Cappadocia. I'm deeply interested in following this excavation and that's the main reason I’m here.”

“This excavation is protected by law and supported by the Turkish government.” Lara replied dryly. “You've no right or permission to be here.”

Monteleone smiled peacefully, and in doing so revealed a pair of silver teeth and a gold one at the back of his gums. “So I heard from this beautiful young Turkish woman. But understand me, _signorina_ Croft, my background and influences exempt me from any legal obligations. Now we're equals.”

“You've cordoned off the camp at gunpoint and locked the workers under threat of death.” Lara spat between teeth. “Am I mistaken?”

“No threats, dear _signorina_ , no threats!” Replied the other, shocked. “We only have ensured they remain in a safe and well protected place until we had this meeting.”

_Liar_ , thought Lara, furious. They had fallen into the hands of the Sicilian Mafia. And all she could do for now, since they were hostages, was to try to solve everything through diplomatic channels. Gunfire would be insane, since all Monteleone’s men were armed and Selma, Zip and the other workers could be injured or killed. _I don't want another slaughter like in Egypt._ So, deep breathing, she displayed her best smile and sat gracefully in the previously offered chair. Kurtis discreetly stood beside her, behind her back.

“I knew you were capable of negotiation.” Monteleone said, with another brand new smile, as he took the Martini to his lips again.

At that very moment a woman entered the tent, which was already crowded with the conversant and Monteleone's personal guard. She removed the fabric from the back of the tent and walked past Selma and Zip, seating herself next to the _mafioso_.

Lara needed only a single look to recognize a prostitute. She had long curly hair with a deep reddish hue, white and freckled skin, and eyes of a curious honey colour. But her opulent figure, with sinuous curves and large breasts, was clad in a dress that left little possible for the imagination.

“Excuse me.” The _mafioso_ then said smiling. “This is my beautiful Maddalena. Don’t mind her, she’s a smart girl and knows about diplomacy.”

_A very specific kind of diplomacy_ , thought Lara, looking down on the sexy smile the woman had painted on her bitch face.

Maddalena cast her bored gaze around the staff and eventually stopped at Kurtis. Seeing him, her golden eyes opened widely, caught by the burly man's body. She seemed pleased with that, since she showed a smile of admiration with her red lipsticked lips, still staring at him shamelessly.

Lara looked away, disgusted, and said to the _mafioso_ : “If you came here it is because you must have a particular interest. What is it?”

The man cleared his throat and left the Martini on the table. Lara was getting nervous with the parsimony of his moves. “You see, I'm interested in some old object...as I said, my job is to run a restoration company. We had in our hands extremely important restoration projects, to cite an example: The Shroud of Turin or some famous works by Titian. This particular interest has arisen my desire to know the artefact of which I speak, which is supposed to be under our own feet here in Cappadocia.”

“What's this artefact?”

“Well, it's a kind of scepter, apparently wrought in silver, which...”

Kurtis had been dreading it. _The scepter. They’re coming for the scepter_. And he began to curse all the demons of hell. Problems. That would only bring problems.

“...and therefore I wanted to ask you, who are undoubtedly an expert on the subject, if you're aware of the existence of this scepter and, over all, if you've seen it during your latest explorations.”

Lara exhibited an innocent smile and said: “I've no idea what you're talking about.”

Kurtis silently cursed again. That was expected of her. She wouldn't give up the damn scepter and then...

“I'm afraid you're not well informed of what research we're conducting here.” Continued Lara. “This is a necropolis belonging to a peculiar race of hybrids known as the _Nephili_ , according to Jewish mythology. There's no more here than niches and corpses. Not the slightest trace of treasures, much less silver scepters.”

That seemed to confuse Monteleone, who showed insecurity for the first time. “But...certain texts speak of the existence of a city under the necropolis. No doubt in that city may...”

“Indeed, some texts tell about it.” Lara said hastily. “And now we're in the process of verifying whether such city exists, though probably it’s just a legend. If it was real, since you moved here, you'd be the first to be informed of the discovery. So,” she concluded, rising gracefully, “there’s no more to say for now. Excuse me, but both my partner and me are exhausted and must take a rest. And I guess my colleague Selma and my assistant Zip can join us.”

The _mafioso_ hesitated only a moment, then muttered: “Sure, sure...! Maddalena, _bella_ , accompany our guests to their camp. Make my men withdraw...I wouldn't like to interfere in this laudable task.”

The redhead woman stood up and, after throwing a languid glance at Kurtis, made her way through the armed men while giving dry orders in Italian. Looked like that whore ruled there as much as her master – something to remember.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my God, Lara! What should we do now?” Selma watched, horrified, the beautiful rod Lara had taken from her backpack and wielded with total self-confidence, with a triumphant smile on her face.

“ _What should we do?”_ Laughed the British explorer. “That gangster will have to steal this from my cold, dead fingers!”

“Preach it, babe!” Shouted Zip, erupting in applause.

The Turkish archaeologist, pale, turned to Kurtis: “Please, talk to her!”

“Me?” The man was leaning against a table, smoking. “What can I say? I told her to leave it in its place. But M'lady is the queen of stubbornness.”

Lara left the scepter on the table. “You really think I'd give this to the first Sicilian Mafia _capo_ who demanded it with kindness? Please!”

“Think about it, Lara.” Kurtis muttered. “We have the whole damn _Cosa Nostra_ camp next door right now, waiting for you to deliver that damn scepter. The lives of the workers, the lives of us all, depend on you.”

“That's what I meant!” Selma burst triumphantly.

But Lara crossed her arms. “I won't be the toady to an Italian boss, okay? Not until I know what this rod is and why he wants it. Unless you know about that, Mr. Lux Veritatis.”

Kurtis didn't answer.

“Well.” Lara concluded. “You're right about one thing, which is that we've to be careful with this rabble. While Monteleone's happy, everything's fine. The others don't matter at all. Selma, I trust to you the scepter, keep it safe. I'll deal with Monteleone and find out what I can. Zip, from now you’ll be quiet as a tomb or you’ll face the consequences. And Kurtis...”

“You don’t command me.” He answered sharply while throwing the cigarette on the ground and stepping on it with his boot heel. “You're making a big mistake, Lara, and you’ll regret it.” He turned and left the tent without giving her time to answer.

 

* * *

 

“He’s absolutely gorgeous.” Maddalena murmured, her eyes squinting. “You should have seen his eyes, Bay Li - those eyes have broken many hearts, I swear! And he's stunning...those muscles...he’s a soldier, for sure. Only soldiers have such perfect bodies.”

“Well, well.” Chirped the beautiful Chinese girl. “He must have some flaws.”

“Yes...he didn’t look at me once.”

“Now that's serious...he must be gay.”

“No way! He's all male from head to toe. Must be a terrific in bed.”

“Well, if you like him, you should fuck him.”

The two prostitutes burst into laughter and took another sip of champagne. They had spent the dinner together and now had a bit of rest.

For some time Maddalena and Bay Li had been friends. In the large group of women who went everywhere with Monteleone for the satisfaction of his men, Maddalena was guardian and mistress of all, not just the boss' favourite, but also the most commanding. Bay Li was another rare beauty, born in Shanghai and deported for the whims of moguls. From the beginning she'd accepted the leadership was up to the beautiful Italian redhead, and had not attempted to fight her, which had granted her friendship.

“You know his name?”

“I heard the British woman calling him Kurtis.”

“Mmm...perhaps they're lovers.”

“I don't think so! Have you seen that woman, that Lara Croft? She's just a bitter rigid lady. Her attitude cries out loudly for a fuck.”

Bay Li laughed again and choked with champagne. “Oh, Maddalena, you must act before she takes him to bed!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That British explorer is a prude; I saw it at first glance.”

“Well, she’s reputed to be a slut.”

“Who gave her that reputation didn't know anything about women. Having at your hand that Hercules and not fucking him is quite stupid. I'll take care of him.”

“Will you charge him?”

“Of course not!”

They laughed again, but then a shadow covered the light of the lamp that lit them. They turned and saw Sciarra, standing before them with his dark smile.

“What do you want?” Bay Li asked irritably.

“I come for Maddalena. Tonight I want to be with her.”

The beautiful Italian twisted her mouth. “Are you an idiot or something? Go away; I don’t want to see you!”

“You're coming with me, _bella_.”

“And what will your boss think about it, huh, smart guy?”

Everyone who worked with Monteleone knew that Maddalena was untouchable. Only the boss could sleep with her, it was commanded. She was his lover and Maddalena didn't serve any man but him. Anyone who would lay a finger on the beautiful redhead could end thrown in a ditch with a bullet in the nape.

“Monteleone won't know because if you say something, or if you refuse to come with me, I'll tell him you’re drooling over the guy who's with the British woman.”

“Nonsense!” She mumbled.

“Just heard it.” He turned towards the Chinese girl. “You know what Monteleone did last time he caught his _carissima_ Maddalena with another guy? He cut off his balls and hanged him on a lamp post, and she had her body ripped with belt blows. Do you remember, Maddalena? You screamed so much we had to gag you.”

The redhead girl was now very pale.

“Monteleone's sooo jealous, isn't he?” Continued Sciarra, smiling cruelly. “Sometimes he forgets you're just a whore, and you act like the whore you are.” He turned back to Bay Li, who looked at him terrified. “Since then, every time our master has the slightest doubt about the loyalty of his beloved, he gives her a monumental beating to remember who owns her. And woe to the poor wretch he suspects ...once he suspected Marc'Antonio, who was truly gay...poor, poor Marc'Antonio...his body rolled over the cliff...”

“That's enough, shut the fuck up!” Cried Maddalena. Rising, she added: “Let’s get it over!”

Sciarra, smiling, grabbed her by the arm and led her towards the rocks. When, on the corner of his eye, he saw Bay Li getting up, he said: “Stay there, sweetie. I'll come for you next.”


	15. Poison

Gertrude loved to comb Bathsheba’s hair.

Very few people knew about that sickly old lady’s past, who seemed to never have been beautiful and young. Like any other human being, she had her spring, and it was told she'd been a stage actress in her distant youth. What was clear was she'd been Eckhardt’s lover until he scorned her for getting old.

Gertrude never had children, but she was sensitive to beauty and youth, and so she couldn't ignore the charm of Giselle’s daughter who embodied all she'd loved and wanted.

Bathsheba's hair when loose reached to her knees, wrapping her in a dark, thick mat that never lost that soft sweet scent of lavender. Nobody knew where the scent came from, since she never used perfume. Gertrude had tried to cut it off, but in two days it grew back. Therefore, the old lady amused herself combing and tidying it, and Bathsheba let her do so, so that she could tell her about her past and the Cabal, which was useful for her.

So Gertrude eagerly separated the black hair strands, which flowed to her elbows, while artistically braiding and knotting her hair to cool her neck. “Do you understand?” She said at the time. “Why we need the Scepter. It's the key to removing the remaining obstacles. We’re still not unstoppable...even though your mother believes so. That Lux Veritatis can destroy us even now, if he tries.”

“What poor faith you have in me, Aunt.” Grinned Bathsheba.

“Vanity's not a virtue. Believe me, our beloved Black Alchemist and even the illustrious Karel considered themselves unstoppable. But you see where they are now. You, my dear, you have the clue so it won't happen again.” She stopped abruptly at the sight of Giselle in the doorway. The attractive scientist looked at both severely. Gertrude turned away immediately, but Bathsheba didn't budge from the sofa where she was installed and threw a lazy glance at her mother.

“What's this?” Said Giselle. “The ladies’ room? Do you really think this is a salon?”

“We were plotting, Mother.” Said the beautiful girl slyly, then she rose slowly and began to curl the hair on the nape.

The scientist didn't answer. She glanced at the old lady and left.

Bathsheba, who could see beyond minds and hearts, saw the shadow of death hovering over Gertrude. “Aunt.” She muttered then. “You should leave. My mother doesn’t like you.”

“And what could she do to me? When that proud woman was a brat, I was already the Black Alchemist's lover! What does she have to teach me, to show me? She should beware of touching me! She should beware this witch!” And she laughed, showing her toothless gums.

Bathsheba smiled with that vague smile of hers and whispered: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Aunt.”

 

* * *

 

“Dr. Boaz claims your presence, Gertrude.” Hugh, the spy, was waiting at the door. Before she could think of nothing else, the old lady knew she couldn't refuse. Things had changed a lot and she was no longer one of the most respected people in the Cabal. She was barely a shadow, drowned by the intense light emanating from the powerful Giselle. Lazily she got up and followed Hugh into the hall.

Giselle, reclining on the couch, was drinking a cup of coffee. Seeing Gertrude, she stood up and, with a cold smile, pointed to the seat: “Do me the favour of taking a seat, Aunt.”

The old woman sat rigid, and looked down at the coffee cup served to her.

“You don’t appreciate me any more than I do you, so I'll get to the point.” Said Giselle with a sharp voice. “I warned you to stay away from my daughter. Despite being supernatural, she's only two years of life and you're filling her head with nonsense. You disobeyed me and you snatch her from me all the time, when I need her and her immeasurable power to progress in the Cabal's cause. In bothering her, you hinder that cause.”

Gertrude laughed contemptuously. “Insolent young lady! What do you know about the Cabal's cause? Experiments, samples, analysis, mutants...bah! Neither you nor your sister were useful to our cause. I'm the one who's leading your daughter towards the Truth. When trying to use her as a mere subject of your experiments, you’re blaspheming against her great power. You’re using an angel as you'd use a scalpel! Beware, you fool, because Lilith’s curse can be casted on you!” Leaning on the table violently, Gertrude seized the cup and took a big gulp of coffee. “While you're wasting time with your patients, your daughter sees her way opened. Don't underestimate her, Boaz, she hasn't been born to be your wrist, she's more powerful than you and she’ll crush you with her feet, you'll see!”

“You stupid dotard.” Mocked Giselle. “My daughter is my child and she loves me. Everything you say are senile ravings of a decrepit crone.”

Suddenly, Gertrude choked. She'd noticed a sort of bitter taste in the coffee, but now that bitterness was rising in her throat and prevented her from breathing. In standing up, trembling, she stumbled and overturned the table. Her knees buckled and she collapsed on the floor. She began to vomit.

“I warned you.” Hissed Giselle, quiet, as she took another sip of coffee. “I warned you.”

“Help!” Gurgled the old woman, extending her arms toward the stolid Hugh. “Poison! Poison!” But the spy didn't move from his place. Bent over herself, the old lady howled again in pain, and turned angrily towards Giselle. “I curse you!” She shouted, choking on her own vomit. “I curse you, doomed hag! Remember my face when you go to hell, monster! You’ll die by drowning, choked by your own creation! I curse you!” She couldn't say more, for she fell face down and after a few spasms, and remained motionless.

Giselle was quietly sipping her coffee. When she finished, looking at Hugh, she only said: “Get rid of her.”

 

* * *

 

“You've poisoned her.”

Giselle looked up. There in the doorway, silhouetted against the light, was Bathsheba's slim figure. Her beautiful eyes looking at her, calm and serene. “You’ve poisoned her and ordered to dump her body in a landfill.” She said that with the certainty of someone who knows everything even before it happens. In her eyes there was no censorship or appreciation - she was totally expressionless.

“Yes, and I ordered that filthy chapel to be burnt.” Said Giselle. “No more superstitions.”

Her daughter went towards her and sat beside her. “She was an old woman who didn't hurt anyone.”

“She was standing between you and me! Come on, child, you know I've done this for your own good. She only had in her mind her past memories and that claptrap she learned from her lover. And although you didn’t know this, she was in her youth as cruel as Eckhardt. She enjoyed his slaughters. We're better without her.”

Bathsheba smiled that smile impossible to decipher. “She has cursed you.”

“You think her gibberish scared me? The unfortunate was dying and wanted to say something awesome before going to hell. I hope you don’t believe in such things.”

“Why not?” She showed her mocking smile again. “Did I not curse Meteora’s _hegumenos?”_

“You know you have the power. But that dotard had nothing! Now it’s just you and me. And I've shown the others nobody can mess with me. Whoever disobeys me will have to face the consequences.”

That was what she'd become. Bathsheba decided not to think about that and said softly: “Finally I've seen him.”

Giselle looked at her, puzzled. “Really?”

She nodded, smiling calmly. “He's in Cappadocia. They are digging the citadel.”

“Fearless, foolhardy.” The scientist whispered. “Do you want me to send our men?”

“No. Let me do this. I know what to do. Besides, I've the certainty they're in possession of an object that interests us even more than the Shards themselves.”

“You have to explain that to me.”

“Be content with it for now, Mother. I’ll be back in a while...and I’ll return with him.” She stood up, smiling coldly, and immediately her beautiful body vanished in the air.


	16. The Vatican Manuscript

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image is a manuscript concept art by Paschal McGuire taken from Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness.  
> Amazing Kurtis drawing by Hydraballista.

Maddalena awoke before dawn, feeling pain all over her body. She threw a cold glance at Sciarra, who slept beside her, and shuddered with disgust at remembering the brutal caresses of that animal who considered women less than rats. On the other side of the bed, on the floor, slept the huddled Bay Li, who was also bruised. Maddalena dared not wake her.

She stood up carefully, and limped to the end of the tent. She took her clothes and left. Luckily, the whole camp was still asleep, and Monteleone hadn't called for her. With a little more luck, he might not ever know _that_.

The Italian redhead walked hesitantly to the creek and got into the stream. She groaned when her body, covered in bruises, brushed against the rocks. Quickly, she washed herself, trying to erase that nasty feeling stuck to her skin. She wanted to mourn, but bit her lip harshly instead. She was not a child! He may not have treated her well, but after all she was a whore and she didn't forget her childhood at Syracuse port.

Maddalena's story wasn't very different from any other port whore’s who'd earned her bread offering herself to the highest bidder. She didn’t remember who her mother had been. Probably another prostitute, and her father one of those sailors coming and going forever. She remembered, however, having run and jumped from the boats moored to the docks of the Sicilian city. At twelve she was already a prostitute, known by her real name, Giulia. Her only family were the madams of brothels in which she lived before returning to her childhood port. She'd lived under bridges and travelled the harbour at night in search of customers. Sometimes she tried to enter a church to pray or make an offering to negligibly cleanse her damned soul, but there was always a pious old woman or priest who would throw her out. She was impure and people like her couldn't go to any holy place.

She was eighteen when she met Monteleone, while sitting on the dock, her legs submerged in the water while combing her hair. A shadow covered the sun and turning over, she saw an attractive and well-dressed man who looked at her in silence, raptured. _“Ciao_ , Maddalena.” He said softly.

She stood up, confused. “Excuse me, _signore.”_ She whispered. “You're mistaken. My name's Giulia.”

He smiled. “No, no. You can only be Maddalena. With such hair? You’re Maddalena.”

She ran a hand through her red curls, stunned.

“Don’t you know,” he continued, “it's said that Mary Magdalene, the prostitute who was so loved by Christ, had hair as red and as long as yours? You could only be called like her.”

And she, who in her life had been touched many times by words of affection, she blushed deeply. “Do you want...?”

“Come with me. That’s all I demand.”

No more. Giulia, now Maddalena, abandoned the stinky port forever and its brutal sailors. At first she thought Monteleone was going to be her charming prince and he’d marry her, finally redeeming her from her dirty life. But there were no fairy tales for her. She soon discovered he was already married, had children, even grandchildren, and she would be just his lover. But she acknowledged she had been delivered from an infinite misery. From that day, no prostitute was envied more than her. And she never had to surrender again to someone who she didn't love.

At least, until that night.

She walked slowly out of the water and put her dress on again, no matter that she was wet. The fabric, by rubbing against her bruises, tore from her a cry of pain.

That bastard Sciarra would pay dearly for that. For sure.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps. Terrified, thinking someone who saw her so badly injured would report that to Monteleone, she ran and hid behind a rock.

A dark figure came down to the creek bank. Her surprise was great in seeing it was Kurtis. The man raised his arms, took off his T-shirt, threw it aside and began to wipe his face and neck with the stream water.

Maddalena looked quietly over the top edge of the rock, and admired the muscular and contoured forms of the man’s torso, his pale skin and the shadow of chest hair. He was covered with scars, some older than others, some almost disappeared, some very recent. But what troubled her most was to see that scar across his abdomen up and down. When he twisted in the water, she saw the same scar on his back, still somewhat thicker and red. She felt horrified, because it seemed someone had impaled him on a huge butcher knife, and yet there he was, alive. She wondered who'd be able to do such an atrocity to him, or what kind of weapon so atrocious could cause that kind of injury, or better yet, what kind of man he was to survive that.

By leaning on the rock further in trying to see him better, she touched the stone with her bruised stomach and winced, gasping aloud. It was enough for him to look up, sit up suddenly and take in his hand a strange, disc shaped object he had on his belt that looked like some sort of weapon.

The prostitute felt it was better to show herself. She came out shyly from behind the rock, glad the darkness hid part of her bruises.

“Sorry.” He said then. “You scared me.”

“You don’t seem at all the sort of man to be scared of something.” She replied, smiling, ready to pounce from the start.

“I know you.” Kurtis went on as if he hadn’t heard the compliment. “You were in Monteleone’s tent.”

“I'm his favourite.” She smiled again, hoping she wouldn't have to explain the exact meaning of that word.

To Maddalena's disappointment, Kurtis bent and put on his T-shirt again, but he kept looking at her. For a moment, she'd hoped he was looking at her body, which showed completely to him through the wet fabric of her transparent nightgown, but she immediately realized what he was looking at were the cuts and bruises. She stepped back, biting her lower lip.

“Anything I can do for you?” Kurtis said then.

_Yes, of course. Fuck me_ , thought Maddalena, but what she said was: “Why, because of this? Oh, c'mon, it’s nothing! I've fallen down on some rocks...I'm so clumsy!” And she gave him a sensual smile, as she stroked her flaming hair, a gesture which usually delighted the men.

He smiled - he was really attractive in doing that, but then he mockingly said: “Didn’t know rocks bite.”

Maddalena blushed again while putting her fingers on her throat, where there were still marks of Sciarra’s teeth. “Everyday work.” She continued, finally assuming he knew what she was. “There are very few men who treat us like human beings. The fact is, being whores doesn't make us like punching bags with which to practice boxing.” As she spoke, she'd approached him slowly, crossing the stream. She was very close...

There were footsteps and suddenly a tall and slender shadow appeared from behind the rocks. Maddalena flinched and backed away. Lara Croft was watching her with a sardonic smile. “You'll catch a cold, sister, if you keep going around like _that.”_ The British explorer said sarcastically, looking at the wet gown form-fitting to Maddalena’s naked body. Then she turned to Kurtis and chewing each word, she said: “When you finish flirting with this hooker, I'd like you to come. Selma and me have to tell you our next moves. Furthermore, what would Monteleone think if he saw you fooling around with his moll?”

The redheaded girl flushed a third time, humiliated and angry. She was no longer feeling beautiful or desirable - that bitch had crushed her beneath her boot. But Maddalena's pride had had its time to cut, and casting a look of contempt at Lara, she snapped: “Relax, little daddy’s girl. Not all of us have had the privilege of being born with her ass on fine cotton pillows.” Not giving time to reply, she turned and walked away, treading the sand furiously at every step, even making her tremble with pain.

_That nasty slut...that...fucking bitch!_

 

* * *

 

“So you see.” Lara said the next morning, while adjusting her belt furiously. “I went to the river and caught him talking to Monteleone’s hooker. And then he goes on with that bullshit of me playing with fire in hiding the scepter.”

“I'm strongly convinced,” Selma solemnly said, brushing her long dark hair, “it was a coincidence. They would meet so by chance.”

“Really, I’m not surprised you defend him.” Lara growled.

“Really, I’m not surprised you attack him.” Grunted Selma.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then both laughed.

“What's up? What’s the joke?” Zip crooned, lifting the tent canvas. “Hey, Lara girl, you _gotta_ take the communicator with you this time, please, _please_.”

“Communicator?” Selma said.

The boy put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small metal object, the size of a button. “This you see, princess, I got from one of my past clients, a real big fish. It captures every little sound with great reliability. Lara only has to carry it in her pocket - now when you talk to this guy I'll transcribe what you hear while on the computer. Very handy!”

That morning, Lara and Selma had decided to meet the Sicilian _capo_ in a "courtesy visit" to find out more about the scepter, if he knew anything, and convince him they were still looking for it.

“Okay.” Lara sighed, and put the gadget in her pocket. “But if I hear you making the slightest noise, I’ll crush this gizmo and then I’ll crush you. We don’t want Monteleone noticing we’re using spy equipment.”

On leaving the camp, Lara saw Kurtis sitting near his tent, half reclining on his knapsack. She felt shocked when seeing he was holding a paper and drawing something with a pencil. So he was back to drawing...what?

He looked up and then their eyes met. She quickly looked away, while reluctantly recalling the first time she saw his drawings, back in Egypt, in the midst of a raging sandstorm...

 

“Please, ladies, make yourselves comfortable here.” Playfully told the _mafioso_ , while Lara and Selma seated at two sofas, within that huge tent looking like the place of an Arab _sheik_. Then he sat on a couch twice as large, and with a lazy gesture he said: “Maddalena, _carissima_ , bring us some Martinis for a snack.”

The beautiful prostitute, waiting in a corner of the room, turned and, before leaving, glared severely at Lara, who returned her an innocent smile.

“ _Molto bene._ ” The boss sighed, pleased. “It’s my pleasure that two women as educated and trained as yourselves have come to this humble antiquary. Shortly I'll explain what I know about this valuable scepter, and I promise not to omit any detail, but perhaps you've more skills and no doubt about it, so I beg you to be lenient with me.”

Lara felt annoyed with so many words. Although she was raised in an atmosphere in which relationships were made that way, she'd never been used to that. But she'd have to make use of her patience if she wanted to deal with that individual.

Maddalena reappeared again, and to Lara's amusement, she only brought two Martinis. She offered one to Monteleone and the other to Selma. She left without giving anything to Lara.

“How to start?” Muttered the _mafioso_ , taking a sip from the glass. “Ah, yes! The beginning, if you don’t mind. Have you heard about the Lux Veritatis?”

“Barely.” Lara replied innocently.

“What do our expert in Jewish mythology know about them?” Said the _mafioso,_ turning back to Selma.

The Turkish archaeologist hesitated before answering: “The Lux Veritatis is said to be a knighthood born in the thirteenth century which had not only strongholds in the countries of Middle-Age Europe, but also in places like Syria or Egypt. Outwardly, they appeared to be a militia of monks in the service of Christ, but their real mission was to fight against hybrid creatures known as _Nephili_ in the Aramaic language. They were also in charge of protecting the victims of these hybrids, and were said to possess some psychic powers such as telekinesis or farsee.”

“Excellent.” Applauded Monteleone. “I see your intellectual reputation is more than justified, Miss Al-Jazeera. In that case, I won't dwell more on introductions so I’ll go directly to the crux of the matter.”

_Thank heaven_ , Lara thought.

Monteleone motioned to Maddalena and then she came forward presenting a wooden chest. She left it on the table and pulling out a key, opened it. Inside, there were documents written on parchment that seemed very old. Giving a quick glance, Lara found that were written in Vulgar Latin.

“I was fortunate to receive comprehensive training in Latin by my illustrious uncle, who's a cardinal in the Holy See.” Continued Monteleone. “If I may, I'll read with pleasure these papers containing interesting and reliable information about the Scepter.”

“Such as?” Then said Lara.

The gangster smiled with a mysterious smile. “Oh...the manuscript is written by Hugh Van Der Brieck. Maybe the name doesn't ring a bell to you...but he lived in the fifteenth century...and he was a Lux Veritatis.”

Selma and Lara exchanged a surprised glance, to Monteleone’s delight, pleased to be the centre of attention. Without further ado, the _capo_ took the first page and began to translate:

 

* * *

 

_Something has changed my life completely. I still don’t quite know whether to hide or reveal this to the Grand Master. I know this is not right. After all, it’s a doomed instrument, begotten by darkness, and I found it in the hands of an idol of the devil. But what it has given to me has been so great that I must face the facts. My act has been the greatest of sins, but has given me the most good. I write this in the year of 1486, hoping to clear my conscience, as my mouth does not dare reveal my fault._

_My twin brother and I were born with two hours of separation. The labor killed my mother, God rest her soul, and while still infants we were raised by other women of the Order. Soon we both awakened to the Gift, and our father was proud of us, but fate prepared for us nothing good. Anger, envy, jealousy, distanced us from each other, and when, after my father’s death, we were so_ confronted _that the Order was ashamed of us, we who should have been united as brothers and soldiers against demons and their leader, the Black Alchemist. The Grand Master forced us to fight side by side to_ _see if the danger would revive our fraternity, but I was as indifferent to him as if he had been murdered._

_Everything changed when we got to Turkey. In this land of infidels, evil permeates the air. We found the city under the rocks of Cappadocia, we call it Tenebra. But we were forbidden to go down there. There were too many of them there. We could have been exterminated._

_Then one day my twin challenged me to descend to the city without telling the Grand Master. We were both adults and my brother had to take a wife, but we fall into temptation as two brainless children. Down there, a true hell was waiting for us._

 

* * *

 

“Here ends the first scroll.” Monteleone said, leaving the paper on the table and taking the next. “This one continues much later. What had been lost in the middle never came into my hands.”

 

* * *

 

_I dare not to talk about this. The horror is too strong. Suffice it to say that my brother and I managed to reach the city. We should not have gone_ _on. It was madness. They neither saw us, nor heard us, but our punishment would be greater._

_I begged my twin to go back, but he scoffed at me. He ran away and I followed him. He entered a kind of temple and I found him at the foot of a statue. When I remember its beauty, I shudder. It was a female angel, naked and girt with snakes, and in her right hand she was holding a silver scepter. From her beauty emanated a patent perversity. It was the image of a devil, a pagan monstrosity. I yelled to my brother to go away from her. But he didn’t listen. Enthralled by the beauty of the goddess, he climbed to her waist and kissed her stone lips. What wickedness! Not still satisfied with that, he took the rod and tried to pull it from the statue. I shouted again. I asked him to leave the scepter and go away from the demonic idol. But he ignored me. Silver was too beautiful and he was already corrupted. I pounced on him and tried to pull him away from there...and then I fainted._

_I do not know if I should write this. They might think I'm crazy, but I swear it's true. I dreamed in my unconscious about the life of my brother. Our fingers touched the cursed scepter, so we plunged into darkness. I dreamed of him and he dreamed of me. Both saw fragments of our intertwined lives. We saw our mother suffering and dying for giving us life. I watched my brother grow stronger; I saw scenes from his life when I had not been present. And I was convinced that my hatred towards him had been unfair, that I only had him and he was my only brother, whom I should love. And I realized that it was jealousy and envy that had estranged us, and that both of us had been selfish to only think of ourselves and not worry about each other._

_When we awoke, we felt that we were unable to continue hating each other. He was my dear brother; no one deserved my love and loyalty more than him. And then all those_ _years of hatred and meaningless misunderstanding vanished._

 

* * *

 

Monteleone stopped again, left the manuscript and took another sip of his Martini. He cleared his throat, took another sheet and smiled: “Miss Croft, you seem really shocked. Are you alright?”

“Perfectly.” She said hoarsely.

“Let’s go ahead then. This is the last page...”

 

* * *

 

_...and he was killed. He could not leave, as I did, the Damned City. I know they were seeking the scepter which we had stolen from them. Curse them! They killed him, my dear brother. Only I survived. Both me and this demonic scepter._

_My sin is too great. I disobeyed. We walked into the town without the Grand Master’s permission. We touched a cursed idol, kiss her lips, and stole her Evil instrument. As I write this, I'm seeing it shining in the light of my lantern, glistening silver in all its beauty. It is cursed, I'm sure. And in my bed lies my brother’s widow, whom I have espoused to keep her and raise her child in her womb, who is also my brother’s child._

_I have to confess all this sooner or later. Confess what we did. But not before getting rid of this monstrous object. I’ll return it. I'll put it again in the fallen angel’s hands, from where we stole it. I'll go down to Tenebra again, and I will get rid from what we did, to be finally at peace._

_I do not fear death. Whatever it is, it will bring me back to my twin. And although this scepter gave me the greatest gift of my life, which was to learn to love again who was the blood of my blood, it came too late for us. He was taken from me when I realized that he was the only one to whom I should love and cherish above all mortals._

_My brother, my dear brother...what have we done?_

 

* * *

 

The _mafioso’s_ voice went out for a while and in the tent weighed a long silence. Lara was pale, transfigured, and stared fixedly at the pile of papers on the table.

Monteleone coughed: “So... I suppose you’ll agree this is certainly fascinating.”

“To me, it seems a little fantastic.” Selma said, wincing.

“Certainly.” The _capo_ agreed. “But if indeed you know anything of the subject, you’ll know that the Lux Veritatis have an oath of truth that keep them from any lie. The Lux Veritatis who lies is punishable.”

“You speak as if the Order were still alive.” Selma astutely said, leaning across the table.

“Oh...I actually think it's still alive. But we’ll get to that.” He turned to Lara. “You’re very quiet, _signorina_. I bet my scrolls have impressed you.”

“Where did you get them?” Lara said in reply.

“Oh...well...from the Vatican Library. Question of influences.”

“His uncle the cardinal?” Lara grinned.

“My uncle the cardinal. I'm his favourite nephew.” He laughed cunningly. “Well, my lovely ladies, what conclusion do we draw from this?”

Lara shook her head and said: “In fact, actual information is scarce. At most it’s the remorseful tale of an amazed man who fainted when touching the rod.”

“And how do you explain his brother having had visions too? How do you explain that these visions will change the soul to the point he started to love again whom he hated from childhood?”

Lara smiled softly: “I hardly believe in old granny’s tales, _signore_. What use has a device that changes people's feelings? Better yet, an artefact which causes a change of heart by visualizing the life of another person who has touched the rod at the same time with you.” She shook her head. “It's just a bunch of malarkey, mere coincidences.”

Monteleone leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe. But to me the story is completely true. Lilith’s Scepter is a real device, and I intend to find it.”

“Excuse me?” Selma said then. “How did you call it?”

“Sorry. I said _Lilith’s Scepter_. The name was invented by me, of course, after checking the statue’s iconographic issues described by Van Der Brieck corresponds to the Babylonian goddess Lilith.”

“Who was known in the Jewish tradition as the first wife of Adam, the same who became devil to be delivered to Samael, the Fallen Angel, also called Lucifer in the Christian tradition.”

“Exactly.”

Lara had been pondering in silence as Selma spoke. Then she again intervened: “Why are you interested in having that rod?”

“I'm an antiquarian, _signorina_. I think my reasons are obvious.”

“And there's an interest...more personal, may I say?”

“Do you mean for its possible powers? Oh c'mon, I don’t really think it would have too much effect on me. I'm already madly in love with my Maddalena.” And he threw a loving glance to the prostitute. “We don’t need a silver stick to get our ties closer, right, _carissima?”_

 

* * *

 

“What...a bunch.... of crap.” Lara grunted as she strode towards the camp, followed by Selma, who was puffing to reach her.

“Wait, Lara, for God’s sake!” Gasped the other. “At least, he'd the courtesy to share information with us. Not every day you've access to Vatican archives!”

The British explorer stopped short. “You're right. But...dammit!” She grabbed her head with both hands. “Why is this happening to me?”

“What?” The Turkish girl looked scared.

Lara lowered her voice: “Down there, something happened which I didn’t tell you. Something amazing.”

“Even worse than the pit of decay or the crosses?” Selma said with a grimace of disgust.

“No... look, I tried to take the scepter from Lilith’ statue, remember? And Kurtis tried to stop me...”

“Yes, yes.” Said the other, and then her eyes lit up. “Well, just as Van Der Brieck twins did!”

“There are more coincidences! Both Kurtis and me passed out, and as far as I know, I had...”

“Visions of his life?”

Lara nodded. Selma watched her open mouthed, and then she whispered: “So…well...have you fallen in love with him again?”

“Jesus, Selma, again with this nonsense!” Lara broke, upset.

“So says the scroll!” Replied the other.

“Forget the scroll! The guy who wrote that was regretful to have been so mean to his brother, y'know? And when he was killed, he regretted having wasted his life with him and mourned his death. But I'm sure the feelings Monteleone said about are utter crap! Don’t you remember, Selma? The _Nephili_ couldn’t love! They didn’t distinguish between Good and Evil! How the hell then could that thing made by them distinguish between them? Because there’s no doubt that the scepter is their creation.”

Selma nodded. “Okay, okay. But then what should we do now?”

“I don’t know. I need to think.”

She strode away again, and when she was far away, Selma growled to herself: “Oh, dear! You had one job, bloody scepter...”

 


	17. Bare Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image chapter is a render by Ash Kaprielov.

Lara had the good sense to quietly turn off Zip’s communicator after ending the conversation with Monteleone, so the subsequent dialogue with Selma wasn't recorded. By transmitting the recording to his computer, Zip directed everything so that it could also be heard by Kurtis, who at the end frowned.

“Well?” Selma said, anxious. “What do you think?”

“I agree with Lara.” He answered. “Even if what Van Der Brieck says is real, Monteleone’s theory about feelings is the biggest load of bullshit I've heard in my life.”

Lara smiled - she didn’t know why, but she had been sure he'd be wise about it.

“Still,” Kurtis stated, “there’s something I don’t like in that guy’s voice. I think there’s more to it and he’s hiding it.”

“Yeah, same here.” Zip said, blowing a bubble of gum from his mouth. “That fucker’s hoity toity voice, with all those manners. He's playin’ at that good vibes shit.”

“But he can’t fool me.” Lara said. “I don’t like anything of this. I think he knows more and I’ll pry into it.”

“Maybe we should tell him we've the Scepter.” Selma suggested.

“Yes, of course. And then I'd apologize for having forgotten it for days.”

“Hell, no. Just pretend you've just found it.”

Kurtis shook his head and said: “If you did that, he’d be here in the blink of an eye with all his minions and snatch the rod right from our hands. Then this guy will probably return to Sicily and the Scepter will end being studied by some old geezer at the Vatican.”

“Wait, wait.” Zip said. “That guy’s working for the Vatican? Ain’t he mafia?”

“The Vatican has close contacts with the Italian Mafia.” Lara said. “It’s not unusual to see cases in which many _mafiosi_ families have relatives serving as cardinals and archbishops who offer them protection and support. Monteleone must be an example, otherwise it’s impossible to explain his access to the Vatican’s Library secret archives.”

“Holy shit.” Grumbled the boy. “We're fucked.”

“Never too late to realize.” Kurtis said sarcastically.

Then came a moment of silence. Selma ended up breaking it. “Well, with or without the Scepter, the dig must go on. The city's there and its remains are still the main claim of my mission. This is the dream of my career and I won't waste it neither for a foul silver rod, nor because all the _Cosa Nostra_ stands before me. I've sacrificed enough of my life.” She said quietly.

 

* * *

 

That night, Lara couldn’t manage to fall asleep, thinking about everything that happened in Tenebra. She was convinced that while the fact they shared memories was due to the Scepter, surely her beating around the bush wasn’t due solely to it. No device could control her mind - it was only her who controlled herself.

In the end she got up. Selma was sleeping peacefully beside her, so she left the tent quietly so as to not disturb her. Slowly she moved through the camp, until arriving at the stream between their camp and the Italians’ one, where some lights were still on and she could hear from afar the laughter of the prostitutes. Well, they also didn’t sleep too much.

She leaned over the water to rinse her face. She used to sleep with tank top and a shorts tracksuit, now slightly damp with sweat. She pulled her hair up in a bun to cool her neck and stared silently at the starry Turkish sky.

“M'lady has insomnia?”

She turned. Kurtis was there, sitting a few yards away at the foot of a rock, calmly smoking.

“It’s this heat.” She lied. “It sticks to my skin. But I still haven’t seen you asleep...you seem to like this spot.” She added slyly, making a clear reference to the previous meeting with Maddalena.

“It's cool. Also, I don’t sleep much. I usually watch most of the night.”

“Why?” She smiled. “The workers are taking turns.”

“Yeah, sure...go there and you’ll find them snoring by the campfire.”

Lara laughed, though she promised herself to give a good scolding to those lazy ones. “In fact,” then she said hastily, “I wanted to talk to you.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“It’s...about what happened in Tenebra...or Eden...when I took the Scepter.”

Kurtis smiled, puffed his cigarette and blew the smoke slowly. “So it’s that and not the heat which keeps you awake.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What?”

“Being so sharp!”

“It's good for surviving.” He smiled again and took another drag on his cigarette.

Damn. He was _so_ hot. And that didn't help with getting down. She decided to sit on the floor, feeling suddenly her legs very heavy.

“I didn’t notice anything off about you when you heard what happened to the Van Der Brieck brothers...but you know as well as me that the same thing happened to us. I saw someone else's life memories and I'm sure you did too.”

He didn't answer right away. He threw the cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it, staring in the distance when whispering: “What did you see, Lara?”

“I saw memories that weren't mine. I saw...I saw a little boy hugging his mother in a basement, while upstairs a helpless old man was being tortured...” She shuddered at the memory. “I also saw a teenager meet his father for the first time, a wife reunited with her husband after fifteen years...finally, I saw,” she concluded, staring at him, “a legionnaire wounded in the battlefield.”

Kurtis was looking away. Then he murmured: “Yeah...that's me. What a life, huh?” He looked bitterly at her. “Wouldn’t even be good for a reality show.”

Lara didn't answer.

“But...” He continued, “What I saw was just as hard, only you dealt with it better than me. I saw you crawling through the snow, escaping from a crashed plane. I saw you taking up a gun for the first time, and finally I saw you fighting the hardest of your battles, dealing with your parents to achieve the freedom to decide the course of your life.”

She shook her head, confused. “I don’t know why this happened...I just know it made me think.”

“Same way it made Hugh Van Der Brieck think?”

“Forget that guy. I know what I feel - and I’m sure no silver rod is manipulating me right now.” She got up, as he looked interested at her. Lara came towards him and stood just three feet away. “Forgive me.” She said, not recognizing her own voice.

He looked stunned. “ _What?”_

“Forgive me.” She repeated, and thanked the darkness for hiding her face, burning like an ember. “For all I said to you, for my attitude since we met again in Meteora. You were right. Selma was right. I behaved like a spoiled brat. I've been proud and selfish. I'm sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She turned and started to leave, but then Kurtis grabbed her arm. “Look at me, Lara.”

She shook her head. The situation was too uncomfortable.

“Strange.” He murmured. “The same woman who glared at me when I left her locked in that airlock is now unable to look up.”

Lara smiled and slowly raised her eyes to meet again those blue eyes, so rare, so dark.

“You're blushing!” He laughed.

“The heat.” She mumbled.

“You’re lying again. I wonder why. Thought you were used to flattery.”

_Not this kind_ , she thought. _So honest. So natural._

“Kurtis,” she hurriedly said. “I owe you an explanation for my behaviour...if something like this admits an excuse. Two years ago, when you left...well, at that time I got what you meant, and now that I've seen how your life has been, I get it even more. But eventually I started to miss you. I went on with my life, my travels, but you...you'd vanished.” She paused. He was listening to her in silence, as he always did when she spoke, since she knew him. He was always listening. “I never thought you were dead. Maybe I wouldn’t believe it, despite the strange life you led...so unreal, putting you in constant danger. After a few months I couldn’t stop thinking of you...and after a year, I started looking for you.”

“Looking for _me?_   You?” He said, surprised.

“Yeah.” She laughed. “I can find places and things nobody would have bet a penny on their existence, but I couldn’t find you. Nobody knew you, nobody had ever seen you. It was as if you'd never existed. In some places someone had heard about you, but it was the farthest I got.” She shook her head. “I was desperate. I got angry and stopped looking for you. I decided the easiest option was to hate you for having come and gone in my life so quickly, to the point of thinking I'd forgotten you. I’m proud when I get angry and also thoughtless. I solved my troubles by adopting a selfish attitude and I cursed you, blamed you and decided to forget you. But I just couldn’t. During these two years all I wanted was to see you again, and when it finally happened...well, you saw how I reacted.” She sighed, and then he fixed his eyes on her chestnut eyes, which again showed their pride. “Well, I've apologized. Now you owe me yours.”

“Lara, I told you...”

“Yes, yes, the Lux Veritatis mission, responsibility, honour and all that stuff. But like it or not, Mr. Trent, you casted me aside, forsaken, and I can’t forgive that. I can apologize for my attitude, but something is still pending.” She walked up to him to stay a few inches from his face: “Your mother's here in Turkey, right?”

He was stunned again. “How do you know?”

“Only suspected. You were gone several days before coming here...you were with her. I've seen her in my dream, my vision, and I've concluded that only an extraordinary woman, a strong and brave woman, of which there are few, could have endured the life she has led for the sake of her own people. One needs to be really tough to love a Lux Veritatis, right? Years of fear, suffering, loneliness. Certainly not all women could endure such a life, am I right?”

Kurtis nodded.

“Then,” continued Lara, chewing every word, “For all your demons’ sake Kurtis! _What made you think I'm not that kind of woman?”_

He opened his mouth...and closed it again, ran out of words.

“Let me tell you that sometimes your overprotective attitude is suffocating. Look at me, Kurtis, I'm not just any common kind of woman. You've seen me fight and challenge the world, breaking chains that held me tight in the atmosphere in which I was born. I'm _not_ a softie. I fight to get what I want, and whoever pisses me off, I blow his brains out. But no, _you had to protect me_ , you had to turn me away from that dark world of yours in which you thought I wouldn't survive...you offended me! Did Konstantin Heissturm tell the woman he loved to stay at home safe and forget about it? If he'd done so, you wouldn’t be here, confronting the same dilemma! I know sometimes I'm stubborn and probably I’m talking too much right now, but no one but you has ever done _this_ to me!” She stopped a moment to catch her breath, in which she withdrew a lock of wet hair from her forehead. “To summarize,” she continued, puffing out her chest and crossing her arms, “ _enough_ of your ‘doomed hero’ attitude and gentlemanly manners. I'm not afraid of pain or death. I don't fear any of the demons, monsters, and abominations that may be lurking out there. Your cause is my cause and your enemies are also mine. I'm as good for this as your mother was. Only that she separated from the man she loved and I won't. Wherever you are, I'll be, when you fight, I’ll fight by your side, and forget everything else! I won’t be cast aside again. So if you vanish again without a trace on the pretext of you try to _protect_ me from your doomed fate, I swear this time I’ll find you wherever you are, cut your balls off and serve them on a platter to the manticores. Do I make myself clear?”

“With crystal clarity.” Kurtis mumbled, and then he laughed - he laughed and laughed until tears came to his eyes as she watched him, barely concealing a smile. It was weird to see him laugh... for he almost never laughed. “Oh, M'lady, sorry for the offense!” He said, and laughed again. “Geez, Lara, you've no idea what these two years have been like.”

“Yes, I do.” She was serious now. “An eternity.”

“An eternity.” He repeated.

Suddenly, in an almost imperceptible movement, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. Lara’s stomach flipped and she hugged him tightly. Now that she was feeling it again, she noticed how much she needed it.

“How can you?” She whispered when their lips parted. “I treated you like trash!”

“Doesn’t matter. Glad this is over, you were driving me crazy. But I suspected something when you scared that poor girl. You had such a face...”

She went back, altered. “Much too obvious? For heaven's sake, that hooker has her eye on you! You don't even realize how she looks at you. Just what I needed.”

“Then,” Kurtis said solemnly, “I'm _so_ sorry for her. It has been a while since I can even think of another woman...”

Lara laughed again and soon was kissing him back. She'd almost forgotten the soft texture of his lips and that way of kissing he had, half sweet and half rough. Once again she regretted having delayed that so long. She kissed him harder, clinging on his body.

Kurtis' fingers slid slowly from her face to her neck, down her throat. By stroking her there, he noticed her violent heartbeat throbbing under his fingertips. He went up to her shoulders, gently lowered her tank top straps, and then he stopped.

“No doubt.” Lara whispered. “We've wasted enough time.”

She took the top around the edges and pulled it over her head - she wore nothing underneath. Then she took off his shirt and embraced him again, crushing her soft breasts against his rock hard chest, while the kissing became more violent. She had the weird feeling someone was listening or watching them, but she didn't care anymore.

The rest of their clothes were ripped off in jerking movements, breathing hard. Lara thought her heart was going to jump from her chest. Darkness covered the stream edge and she could barely see Kurtis, so she guided herself by touch. She ran her hands across his tanned, strong body, kissed his chest, and brushed the contour of his scars with the tip of her tongue. Suddenly the world around them had vanished and there were only just her and him, and she’d even forgotten that hours before she had been still mad at him.

Resentment, misunderstandings, selfishness and pride were buried under sweat and saliva. Nothing more mattered. She loved him - not as he loved her, for he'd loved her almost from the first time he'd seen her, but she'd been gradually falling in love with him. She’d taken years and months to realize it was useless to resist the evidence, and that the exchanged kisses long ago weren't enough for the both of them. But now it didn't matter. All she wanted now was him, and she knew it was something she wouldn't regret.

When their bodies finally merged, lying on the ground beneath the starry sky, she realized how badly she'd been wanting him since she met him again for the first time in Meteora. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder to stifle her moans, which might have awakened the whole camp, before abandoning herself to that ecstasy.

All around, the world seemed to hold the silence.

 

* * *

 

Zip was watching his computer screen engrossed. He could feel cold sweat sliding down his back. “Holy shit.” He sputtered.

There it was. The camera was recording it with fidelity. Selma, who was nearby, peered over his shoulder and held back a scream. “Is that..?”

“Yeah, princess. What kinda freaky-deaky monster is that…”

Finally, the techie had managed to get the little camera running. Lara had installed it on the roof of the pit of decay the second time she’d descended. And now it recorded the image of those awful fangs, still parsimoniously grinding its gigantic amount of food. “If someone told me about this I'd never believe it.” Zip said again, tapping to zoom. “Look, Selma...it’s eatin’ a dead body! Where them bodies come from?”

“Looks like it's being fed.” Said a deep voice behind him.

He turned. Kurtis had entered and sat in a chair to finish buckling his boot.

“But... by who?” Said Selma.

“Not _who_ but _what_.” The man continued. “While you were talking with the mafia boss, I went to the villages around to ask. There have been disappearances of adults and elders.” Making a gesture, he pointed to the screen. “So there they are, being digested by that thing. Children don’t count, they’re too small.”

“The horror!” Cried the archaeologist.

“The manticores.” Kurtis pointed. “They have strong jaws, but they're done after one or two victims. That's not their way of killing. They take it calmer, paralysing the victim with their poison, sucking the blood out until draining them, and then chew the meat to peel. But they're also the ones who feed that thing. They're able to drag a body for miles by holding the victim by the neck with their jaws.”

“Dear Lord!” Selma was pale. “Who told you that?”

“No one. I've seen it.”

The boy cast a glance at the screen. “Well, I pity those poor losers. Probably they were still alive when that thing ate ‘em.”

“Alive but unconscious. Manticores’ venom is too strong.”

Zip fumbled the table for the gum box, took one and put it in his mouth. “I feel like that thing's some kinda bouncer.” He mumbled while chewing. “The _Nephili_ put that there to eat unwanted visitors.”

Kurtis smiled cynically. “You think this bug can distinguish between visitors?”

“At least it wouldn’t touch the _Nephili_...I guess.”

“Not sure. It also eats manticores...which feed it. There are no rules among demons.”

“Why would these manti-whatevers feed it? What's in it for them?”

“Not a clue.” Kurtis said, rising. “What matters now is to be careful. Thus far, these demons are content with villagers. But as they get tired of dragging bodies through the desert and decide to get their paws on those who are closer...we’re going to have trouble.”

At that time the tent canvas lifted and Lara entered.

“Damn, girl!” Zip mocked. “You look tired as hell! You been trampled by a wild horse?”

“Shut up.” She grunted, then turned back and said to Kurtis. “There’s a corpse at the camp entrance. You should take a look.”

 

* * *

 

It was a Turkish guy’s body, just a teen. He was lying on his side, with his face crushed to the ground in a horrible twist. Kurtis leaned over and gently pulled back the turban covering his neck. Selma groaned. His throat was severed and covered with a layer of dried blood.

“Just what I thought.” Kurtis said, pointing at the wound. “Note the irregular edge of the bite. How many rows of teeth do you see?”

“Three.” Lara replied, and looked uneasy. “Three rows of teeth?”

Kurtis nodded, and then took the boy's face and turned it into the light. Selma gasped and went back, covering her mouth with both hands.

The boy had a contorted face. His mouth was open and his eyes bulging - rather an eye, since the other had disappeared, pecked by a crow or another prey bird.

“Three rows of teeth in the throat and that look of panic. This boy died watching his face being disfigured.” Kurtis said. “It’s the sign. He's been attacked by a manticore.”

Zip whistled. “And why didn't it eat him? You think it was bringin’ him to that big monster?”

“No.” Kurtis sighed, again covering the boy's face. “They're smart, very smart. They have left him here as a warning. Next one to be killed, will be one of us. And another and another. Until we change our minds and leave. They don’t want us here, digging in the city of the masters whom they served and worshipped.”

There was silence. Selma had covered her face with her hands and sobbed quietly.

“Hey, princess, don’t cry.” Said Zip, passing his arm over her shoulders. “You'll see how everything will be OK.”

“It will _never_ be OK.” She groaned. “It’s happening again. I found them the same way. Oh, God...they were all like this...with their throat open...my people...my Ahmad...oh...slaughtered...that monster, that Black Alchemist, ordered so...oh...”

“That fucker's dead, princess. Lara killed him. And Kurt killed the other one, the blond. They got no one to rule ‘em right now.”

“And so now they're more dangerous.” Lara said with a pessimistic voice.

“Hey, I'm trying to cheer her up!” The hacker protested.

Selma now openly wept on his shoulder. The old ghosts of the past came back to her.


	18. The Silver Bullet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awesome chapter's image by Rockeeterl.

_At first, he saw only darkness. Then he saw her, sitting, lifting her brown eyes to the gun targeting her. She had no time to react._

_The bullet, small and made of silver, struck at her heart, next to the left breast. Everything happened very fast, but he saw it in slow-motion. A jet of blood soaked the white fabric of her shirt. Then she began to slide off the chair._

_He tried to catch her, but she fell. And she stared at the ceiling, with open eyes, dead, while beneath her a dark pool of blood widened._

 

* * *

 

He sat up abruptly, letting out a scream. He took a few moments to catch his breath.

She was there beside him, naked and asleep. It had just been a nightmare. He laid down again, fixing his gaze on the tent ceiling while the sweat ran down his back.

“You okay?” He heard her murmur sleepily at his side.

“Sleep, Lara. Just a nightmare.”

She lifted her head, and a lock of brown hair half covered her face. She pulled it away. “What did you dream?”

“Nothing.”

She smiled. “You're such a bad liar. Maybe because your people made you take an oath against lying.”

“Did Monteleone tell you that?”

“At least through him I’d find out more about it. You never talk about yourself.”

He remained silent. Lara touched his shoulder - the burn scar which, two years before had disfigured the rough tattoo marking him as a Lux Veritatis. There was no longer any sign under the rough, scarred skin. “Have you ever thought about redoing the tattoo?”

“What for? There's no one left to account to.”

“But you're still hunting demons.”

“Because they're after me, attracted to me. The Cabal wasn't my only enemy. Yet, it was the worst.”

She sat up and swung her hair to her back.

“I'm struck by one thing about you.” Then Kurtis said, looking at her soft curves. “You don’t have a single scar.”

She laughed. “And you look like Christ himself!”

“Thanks.” He growled.

“That's a compliment! You know Roman legionnaires and gladiators compared scars to see which one of them had more? They were like medals of honour. And if there were none in the back it was even better, since it meant they had never given their back to the enemy to flee. Or so they thought.”

“I’m not a Roman.” Kurtis said. “And the worst of my scars is on my back.”

Lara came near him and put her arms around his waist as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “If you tell me what you dreamt, I'll tell you why I've not a single scar.”

“I’d guess you had them removed, Miss Aristocrat. Why are you so worried?”

She was silent. “Because you woke up screaming. That’s not usual for you.”

“You've only been sleeping with me a few nights.”

“Plenty enough for me.” She said smiling.

“You think someone might have noticed?”

“Sooner or later...God, Selma's going to be unbearable.”

She closed her eyes. Soon, she heard again his voice: “You'll laugh at me.”

“I promise not to.”

“I think it was a bad premonition. I dreamed someone killed you with a silver bullet.” Kurtis turned towards her. “You're smiling.”

She lifted her head and looked at him. She was in fact, smiling. “I'm not laughing at you. Lots of people have shot at me...as at you. These are perks of our jobs.”

He shook his head. “Protect yourself, Lara.”

“Where exactly?” She whispered, still smiling.

Kurtis hesitated. Then he stretched out his hand, and with his fingertips brushed the contour of her left breast, finally touching a point next to it, almost in the centre of the sternum. “Here. Right in the heart.”

“I'll wear a breastplate.” Teased her, and bent to kiss him.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, the Italians received an unexpected visit.

The first to sight the dark figure was the beautiful Bay Li, who was sitting on a rock on the exterior of the camp, her long dark hair drying in the sun, while muttering under her breath as she combed her hair. The Mediterranean sun burned her soft Chinese skin. A camp in the rocky desert was no place for a delicacy like her.

She looked up to see a shadow covering the sun. She squinted and said: “Who are you?”

“I’m looking for Daniele Monteleone.” Answered a sweet and musical voice, speaking from the depths of a thick hood.

“Show me your face.” The Chinese girl insisted.

The visitor dropped the hood and Bay Li saw a woman younger than herself, who seemed very beautiful, even though she hadn’t yet found the appeal of Western women. “Are you sure it isn’t Maddalena whom you’re looking for?” Bay Li insisted, seeing her so beautiful she should likely to be a young prostitute in search of support.

“Of course.” Smiled the other, revealing a row of perfect white teeth.

Bay Li got up and guided her through the camp. As she passed, all men turned to look at her, speechless. The Chinese woman captured a strange scent that seemed to come from the stranger's hair, which was even blacker than hers, with that dark shine of Eastern women.

Arriving at Monteleone’s tent, Bay Li called Maddalena and exchanged a few words with her. The visitor waited patiently. Finally, the redhead opened the tent.

The boss was sitting in his chair, drinking his Martini, and raised his eyebrows in surprise at seeing the woman. “ _Benvenutta signorina. Parla l'italiano?”_

“Perfectly.” Smiled the other, sitting elegantly on a couch nearby.

“Maddalena told me you weren’t looking for her, so I guess that...”

“Indeed, I’m not a prostitute. I’m an art dealer and I come to provide certain information that may interest you.”

“About what?”

The other smiled again, innocently. “About the Scepter, of course. And also about the people who are right now across the brook.”

Monteleone looked at her, stunned. “You have my full attention _, signorina...”_

“Bathsheba.”

Maddalena carefully studied the woman. She didn't like her. She chose the most beautiful women to give satisfaction to Monteleone’s men, but acknowledged that, despite this one being perfect, she would never have chosen her. That woman seemed a wolf in sheep's clothing. Too pretty to be good. She was convinced she hid a den of depravity...and also her ominous name. The name of a sinner, as every devotee should know. And Maddalena, though had rarely been allowed to set foot in a church, was very pious.

_Your name is also a sinner’s name, Maddalena._

The young prostitute looked up, and met Bathsheba’s green eyes. She went back, terrified. Was it she who had spoken? Or were they hallucinations? Shivering, she turned and left the tent.

Monteleone hadn't noticed anything. “Please, enlighten me.”

“I've come to warn you.” Said Bathsheba. “If I may.”

“Go on. You intrigued me.”

“Lara Croft is making fun of you.”

The boss looked at her dumbfounded. _“Dio mio,_ what does that mean?”

Bathsheba leaned forward, and with a sweet smile, whispered: “She's been making fun of you from the very beginning. When you first saw her, she already had the Scepter in her possession, stealing it from Lilith’s statue. Now it’s in her power and she comes every day to pry information from you, while all of them there are laughing at you.”

Monteleone remained silent for a few moments. He had a grim look on his handsome face. “How do you know that? Why should I believe you?”

“You can believe me and take action on the matter, or not, and have them continue to laugh at you. As for my sources, I'm sorry but I prefer to keep them hidden. I’m interested in the Scepter as much as you, as a matter of my job. And the truth is I'd rather see it in the hands of a professional like you than in that trashy robber’s hands.”

He remained silent, looking irritated. He rubbed his chin with relish. “So she made fun of me... _bene, bene_. But something else has to be in all this. Why did you come to me? You could get the Scepter, could steal it or deal directly with them.”

“I already said why. Anyway, ther  e's something more that interests me.”

“Tell me an amount.”

“I don’t want money. I want a man.”

Monteleone was again blown away. “A man?”

“Yes, he's in their camp. And I want him alive. You must _not_ touch a single hair on his head.”

“Who's he?”

“The man who's with Lara Croft all the time. Kurtis Trent.”

“It shall be as desired. But...curious if I may...why are you so interested in him?”

“His head is priced. A price both me and my people want to charge.”

A sly smile crossed the face of the _mafioso_. “ _Paso lungo e bucca curta_.”

“Don’t be fooled. We're not a mafia like you. But he's ours. You deliver him to us and you'll have the rest.”

“And what interest could be in such a man? Just a loser. Never heard him open his mouth.”

Bathsheba smiled again. So sweetly. “I've said enough, _signore_ Monteleone. Have a nice day. _Ciao_.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, while checking all documents and maps drawn to the referent of the excavation, Selma and Lara were surprised by the visit of Sciarra, Monteleone’s favourite man. He stood boldly in the middle of the tent.

_“Il_ _signore_ Monteleone is pleased to invite _signorina_ Croft to his tent to discuss new sources about the subject which is employing you.” He announced with a mocking voice, glancing obscene at Selma, who looked away, upset.

“Selma's the excavation director.” Lara challenged, frowning. “She should come with me.”

“What's up, rich daddy's girl? You fear I eat you?” Sciarra laughed.

Lara threw the compass on the maps and passed beside him, whispering: “You better fear _me_ , cocky minion.”

Sciarra stared for a moment at the gentle sway of Lara’s hips as she was heading towards the mafia's camp. Then he followed her with a leisurely pace. “So you're British.” He said as he followed her to the camp. “Funny. Thought all British women were ugly.”

She didn't answer. “Also, I thought you were a prude. But judging from what you were doing with that guy some nights ago, on the banks of the river, seems I was wrong.”

“Did you enjoy the show?” She replied, undeterred, grinning with cynicism.

“Well, I'd rather not tell...who would've enjoyed that must be that bitch Maddalena, who dreams of your man since the first day. I'd keep an eye on her if I were you...any Italian chick will always be more desirable than a skinny British prude.”

Lara didn't answer this time, but she kept her sarcastic face.

 

* * *

 

“ _Signorina_...is a pleasure to have you here again.”

Lara suspiciously scrutinized Monteleone’s face. A change had come over the _mafioso_ ’s face, no doubt about that. He seemed slightly tenser. “Sit down, please. I want to tell you something.”

She obeyed, and stared at the handsome fifty-year-old man, who was spinning his eternal Martini with a nervous gesture. “How to start?” He muttered. “How to say I’m extremely disappointed with you? No, wait, don’t say anything. I know everything. I know that from day one you’ve been hiding the Scepter. You’re very smart, aren't you? And you’re strong. You believe everyone else can bend to your will, to make them dance like puppets to the sound of your orders. But believe me, Lara, you can’t play with the _Cosa Nostra_ , not even an aristocrat like you, who thinks to have the world at your feet only because wherever you go, you take what you want by simply reaching out for it. You think everything is yours and you get whatever you seek. And now look at me.” He got up, proudly standing. “Indeed, I’m not a brute. I'm as gentlemanly as any of your English courtiers. I’ve treated you with respect and courtesy. I've been patient with you; I've shown you documents and provided information to which most people don’t have access. I've opened my heart to you and you've been making fun of me, you and that multiracial gang of yours. I’ve been underestimated, _signorina_ , since I’m as willing to use polite language as weapons.”

Obviously, Lara had sensed the danger long before he'd finished his solemn speech. She wasn't armed, and when she saw the _capo_ putting his hand on his coat's lapel, she jumped from her chair.

But Monteleone was quick and well trained. He took the tiny nickel-plated pistol at a speed which had nothing to envy from the best shooters, and fired. And Lara only had time to raise her arm to cover her chest.

The tiny bullet, made of silver, entered her forearm shattering the bone, pierced the flesh and plunged into her chest, level with her left breast. The impact threw her back and she hit a trunk, fell backwards and lay on the ground, clutching her wounded arm while the blood flowed in torrents.

Maddalena ran in, and seeing the _Dantesque_ scene, let out a cry of horror. “Daniele!”

“Hush, _cara mia_ , hush.” Calmly replied the other, taking out a silk handkerchief and wiping the gun's barrel. “It's ok.”

Lara gasped and tried to sit up, but her bloody hands slipped on the top of the trunk and lay back. She bit her lip to hold in a scream.

Monteleone walked up to her slowly, still holding the gun in his hand. He pulled a chair up to her and sat quietly in it. “Weird.” He said. “That bullet was aimed at your head. But first you stood up and then you put your arm in its way. God help me if I've ever seen anyone moving so fast. But you see, you weren't fast enough.” He sighed. “I guess I should be a gentleman and end your agony, but these silver bullets are really expensive and I won't waste one more of them on your filthy person.”

He put the pistol on the table and, turning to the horrified prostitute, who was trembling in a corner, he said: “Maddalena, _bella_ , bring me another Martini. I'll stay to keep company to _signorina_ Croft until she bleeds to death. It wouldn’t be polite to leave her alone, don’t you think?”

The redhead stepped back, trembling, and left the tent. She stepped forward and then she hesitated. She looked back.

The canvas tent was splattered with blood where Lara was laying. She shuddered with horror, and soon, she turned and ran, not to order Monteleone’s Martini, but towards the camp of the excavators.

 

* * *

 

Selma was with Kurtis when he suddenly stood up and touched his chest, as if he'd been stung.

“You okay?” She asked, alarmed.

He didn’t answer. He pulled his hand away slowly and stared at it, as if expecting to see something on it. Then he looked up. With horror painted on his face, he slapped away the canvas tent and went outside. Selma followed him, frightened, to see how Maddalena came running, her face almost as red as her hair. She stopped a few steps from Kurtis, panting, fell to her knees and put her hand over her heart while she breathed laboriously, trying to catch her breath, because of the race she'd been cast into. “Kurtis!” She gasped when she saw him. “Oh, _Dio mio...!”_ She choked.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “What happened? _What the hell happened?”_

Selma stared dumbfounded at that woman whom she hardly knew, but had come to them without hesitation to say that... “The British...Lara...there... shot down...”

That was enough. Kurtis dropped her and ran toward the Italian camp, ignoring Selma’s cries.

“The hell is going on?” Zip yelled, emerging from his tent and ripping his MP3 headphones out.

“Lara's hurt!” Said Selma. “I don’t know how...! Hey, wait!”

Maddalena, deaf to the conversation of the two young people, had risen again and ran towards the Italian camp. She didn’t know what had driven her to seek Kurtis, to call him. But she knew she shouldn't have done that. She had to get him away from there before something terrible happen.

_Santo Dio, Daniele, what have you done?_

 

* * *

 

Lara managed to move her good arm, but each movement meant a trial. Through the red haze that clouded her eyes, she saw Monteleone looking around and wondering why his diligent Maddalena was taking so much time.

“You and your bloody Martinis.” She sputtered. “Hope they kill you.”

“Say what you want, darling.” He replied smiling. “Here you're dying and I'm here alive and kicking. You've brutalized your own memory and I kept my honour. So things are.” He leaned towards her. “I'll tell you something. I think you’ve a right to know, now that you’re going to die. Yesterday a woman came, an informer, who told me about your funny joke. You want to know the only thing she asked in return? Your friend’s head, that Kurtis Trent.”

The comment made the desired effect. Lara's eyes widened. She tried to say something, but no words came out - her chest ached horribly.

“That woman...she said her name was Bathsheba. Oh, so you know her! Well, you should have been more cautious with your enemies. It would have me worried to have such an enemy, pulling the strings so sophisticatedly. But you’re proud and self-confident. I don’t know for what she wants your friend, but seems he won't survive after you for long...”

He'd no time to finish the sentence. Suddenly, a loud noise, like a creak, made him turn his head. What he saw was a sharp curved blade ripping up and down the tent’s canvas, which discovered, when falling, Kurtis' figure. The terrible expression on his face completed a picture that would terrify the bravest person on earth.

Monteleone took the gun and jumped from his chair. He fired. The bullet whizzed by Kurtis' head, who was leaning slightly to one side - then charged against the _capo_ and knocked him down on the floor. The Italian man struggled, holding the gun which Kurtis tried to take, and began to shout: “Sciarra! Sciarra! Come to me!”

Kurtis silenced him with a punch that broke several of his front teeth. On the corner of his eye he saw Lara, covered with blood, making a terrible effort to get up. Then she looked behind him and gasped: “ _Kurtis...!”_

That warning was enough for him to move aside rolling on the floor -  a shot hit the wood of the trunk. At the entrance of the tent was Sciarra, wielding a shotgun. But Kurtis was significantly faster than him - he jumped up, grabbed Monteleone by the neck, who hadn't recovered from the punch yet, and touched the Chirugai’s blade to his throat: “Move an inch and I’ll behead him.” He threatened.

Sciarra smiled cruelly. “No rush. I can wait until your girlfriend bleeds to death. Although it would be a shame, since the poor chick would get bored before going to hell.”

The blade’s edge sank into Monteleone’s flesh, who began to moan, while a trail of blood soaked his collar. Sciarra tightened his teeth. “Kill him,” he said, targeting Lara, “and I’ll send her to her final destination in a blink.”

At that time, there was a horrible crunch behind Sciarra. The assassin’s gun slipped between his fingers, he rolled his eyes and collapsed on the floor. Maddalena appeared behind him, still holding a stool with both hands. “Take that, you bastard.” She spat through her teeth, throwing aside the stool.

“Maddalena?” Stammered Monteleone. “What are you doing?”

She arose, smiling calmly. “Saving your life, Daniele.” Then she looked at Kurtis. “Please, let him go. Your friend is weak and she won’t live long. I know he shot her, but I warned you, and now I beg you to leave this man.”

Kurtis didn’t hesitate - he pushed the _mafioso_ to the floor and went towards Lara. Monteleone stared in amazement the unconscious body of his killer, and then he cast a look of hate to Kurtis: “You won’t escape, _figlio di putana!”_ He gurgled, spitting blood through his broken teeth. “You soon will be caught by those who seek you!”

Kurtis wasn't listening - he leaned over Lara, who put her healthy arm around his neck, and then he lifted her gently in his arms.

“Let’s go.” Urged Maddalena. “No time.”

They left the tent, but immediately were surrounded by Monteleone’s men, who upon hearing the fuss had come armed to the teeth. They both would have died in that moment, riddled with bullets, if Maddalena hadn't covered them with her body and extended her arms, shouting: “ _Fermo!_ Don’t shoot! Lower your guns!”

And they, who already had their fingers on the triggers, hesitated, because Maddalena was respected almost as much as the boss. Those moments of doubt were enough for Kurtis, who disappeared in the blink of an eye, taking with him his precious burden.

The Sicilian redhead dropped her arms and looked at him earnestly as he rushed away, carrying Lara in his arms. For love, she'd betrayed her people. And betrayal never goes unpunished.

 

* * *

 

Selma was the first to see them coming. She stepped forward, and seeing Lara, she screamed. Next to her, Zip and a lot of workers came running.

“Oh, God, oh God.” The Turkish woman cried. “Lara!!!”

“Get away.” Grunted Kurtis, going toward his parked motorbike. While still holding Lara, he climbed to it and fasten her in his arms.

“I'm cold.” She murmured, shivering.

Selma suddenly appeared with a blanket in her hands and quickly wrapped her, no questions asked, while Zip watched Lara, shocked.

“Selma...” Lara muttered. “Run away, all of you...as soon as possible...they know about...the Scepter...”

Kurtis started the vehicle.

“Where are you taking her?” Zip shouted above the engine's roar.

“To someone who can help!” He cried, and drove off. The motorbike lunged forward and disappeared, leaving a trail of dust.

Zip and Selma remained still for a moment. Suddenly, she seemed to lose her mind. She turned and ran towards the tents.

“Hey, hold up, princess...!”

The crowd of workers and excavators were watching her in shock. Then, they saw her again - she brought the Scepter in her hand, shining in the light of the afternoon sun. In one leap, Selma jumped on top a wooden box. She wasn't a shy girl anymore. She'd become an exhilarating and fearless leader.

“Listen to me, all of you!” She shouted, brandishing the silver rod. “Those who have hurt Lara wanted this! You want to know what I say? These butchers won't get it! Are you with me?”

“Yes!” Roared part of the crowd - others just watched her, frightened.

“At this time, they’re coming over here! They come to kill us! Those who don’t want to die, follow me!” She said no more, but jumped down and ran towards the excavation. Instantly, the whole crowd moved behind her.

“Selma, Selma!” Zip managed to reach her. “Where you goin’?”

“To Tenebra!” She cried. “They won’t follow us there!”

Zip shuddered in horror. He stopped her, grabbing her arm. “ _Are you nuts?”_

“It's our only chance!” She shook off of his arm and ran.

Zip looked around. People left the camp at full speed. He hesitated a moment. Then... “Hey, princess! I’m with ya!”

In the distance, the first shots were heard. The _Cosa Nostra_ attacked.


	19. The Healer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a screenshot from the video scene of Putai the shaman and Lara Croft, deleted in the final version of Tomb Raider Angel of Darkness: https://youtu.be/F5XzhMga4wI

Lara passed out shortly after, for she'd lost too much blood. The bleeding slowed after a while, but Kurtis, who held her against his chest, felt his own shirt soaked through with that blood he loved. The blanket was wet and his arm was slippery because of it.

He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to think about _that_. He just had to take her _there_. It was her only chance. The hospital was forty miles far from there, along a dusty road full of rocks and potholes. She wouldn’t make it alive. He had to take her _there_.

The road wasn't long, since she didn’t live so far away, but for him it was an eternity. He didn’t know whether to accelerate and thus risk her falling from his arms, or to slow down and risk her dying there. If he had the strength, he would've wept with rage. But all his forces were focused on arriving soon.

No journey had ever seemed so long.

Marie heard the engine roar from afar, so she went outside to meet her son, surprised to see him visiting her just after a few weeks living there. But when she saw the injured woman in his arms, she understood.

The Navajo woman ran towards him as he stopped the motorbike, and pulled the blanket to look at the wound with a critical eye. She hadn't expected such severity. “Quick.” She murmured. “We're running out of time.”

They took her inside. Marie had her lay on her bed and for a moment she hesitated, not knowing if whether to care for the injured arm first, or go directly to the hole shot in the chest, which was draining her life out. Kurtis leaned over her and brushed her hair from her forehead, and then Marie recognized her. It was Lara Croft!

“This is very serious.” Marie muttered. “She has lost too much blood.”

“Save her. You’ve saved others. You can do this. “

The old woman sighed and leaned over the wounded – and at that very moment, Lara opened her eyes and stared at her.

 

* * *

 

_But in fact, she didn’t see her - she couldn’t see at all. The only thing visible around her was a group of dancing elongated shadows leaning over her - and everything else was dark._

_She tried to breathe, but the effort was so painful her eyes moistened - she could hardly do it. She felt the silver bullet, stuck there like a sharp bone, her arm hurting from shoulder down to the fingertips, and she couldn't move it. It hurt like hell._

_There were two shadows around her. Somehow they looked familiar to her, but they couldn’t be friends, because they were torturing her. One of them stretched out her skinny arms and began to twist her arm, putting her fingers into the wound, both inside and out. She wanted to scream, but no voice came out from her - her mouth was dry. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing them, and then she felt a sharp burning tip across her chest, right where the bullet was tormenting her._

_And she began to rave. Without knowing why, her dull mind transported her back to a time when she suffered so much she thought she'd die, but someone decided to save her..._

 

* * *

 

Marie wiped the sweat from her forehead with her bloody hand. Her face was also smeared with blood, but she didn't care. She was used to blood: blood of wounds, blood of childbirth, blood of a thousand sick and wounded who'd passed through her hands.

She had worked with skill and speed. With her son’s help, she had Lara’s arm bandaged and splinted to cut off that endless flow of blood. Then she tried to extract the small bullet with a burning needle. But she got nothing but to make her scream and squirm.

The bleeding had been completely stopped, but the bullet was still inside - and Marie was very tired. Through the haze that clouded her eyes, the Navajo woman saw Kurtis surrounding Lara’s shoulders to lift her slightly and bring a glass of water to her lips. He also was spotted with blood to the elbows.

“Why did you bring her to me?” The old woman said.

“Because you can save her. You’re a healer.”

“You need to know the truth. She's bled too much. A transfusion would be the best. Otherwise, she might not make it.”

 _A transfusion!_ Kurtis thought, discouraged. If he'd been asked to cut his own hand or foot, or to open a gash in his own neck to bleed like a lamb, he'd have done it without hesitation. But a transfusion wasn’t possible here, only at a hospital, where she might not arrive in time.

Marie looked back at Lara, laying in her bloodstained bed. They had cut and removed her shirt to cure her, and now a bandage was holding her chest, which bled no more. Pale and sweaty, she barely drank the water that Kurtis offered her and went on muttering strange words under her breath.

“She’s raving.” Marie said. She leaned back over her and added. “Who's Putai? “

“What?” Kurtis said, confused.

“She’s calling for a person named Putai. You know her?”

He frowned, then he shook his head, grieved. “Yes, she was a friend of her. But she died.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Putai! Putai, my sister! “_

 _Why didn’t she_ _hear her? Was it that she wasn’t shouting loud enough, or was she deaf? She wanted to hold out her arms, but she couldn’t lift them. The pain was far_ _too intense. Tears came out from her eyes._

“ _Putai! Why are you doing this to me? “_

_And again she felt the smell of salt, the whisper of the sand, the warm sun of Egypt. Lara opened her eyes and there she was, lying in the Bedouin shaman’s tent. Naked and looking disgusted at herself, for her body was broken, crushed, and mangled after falling under the foundations of the Great Pyramid. Broken bones and some even stuck out of the skin, and every movement was torture._

_Putai looked at her, smiling. She was always smiling, for that was what Lara needed. The shaman stretched her arms and took her leg, after which she gave it a sharp tug. Lara screamed again._

“ _Well, well!” Sang the Ethiopian woman. “The great Lara Croft breaks like a fragile reed, as we always thought! Where's your courage now, where’s your pride? “_

_Lara said nothing. She just gritted her teeth._

“ _No, don’t.” Putai gently chided her. “Pain drives us crazy. You’ll end up cutting your own tongue by clenching your jaws like that. You’ll catch it with your teeth. Bite this stick.”_

“ _I won’t bite a stick. I’m not a dog.”_

“ _Then stop screaming. You're annoying the whole tribe.”_

 _But when the Bedouin touched again Lara's fractured limb, she screamed again. In fact, Putai couldn’t understand how she could resist that. She had her arms, legs and ribs broken. The shaman knew she was in agony, but there was no other way - she needed_ _to assemble her bones._

_The Bedouin woman turned to the stove lit at one end of the tent. She went up to it and took a cup, with which she dished into a bowl a liquid concoction boiled on the fire. Then she brought Lara up and told her to drink._

“ _What's that?” The British explorer mumbled._

“ _Opium strong enough to knock out a camel. Don’t look at me like that. It's a drug, which means it will help you sleep. At least, you won’t be yelling and hurting my ears.” Putai smiled, and her eyes sparkled._

“ _I’m dying.” Lara said then._

“ _Don’t be dramatic. You just have half your body crushed. I'll fix you.”_

“ _I'd rather die.”_

“ _Yes, of course. Now drink.”_

_The drug was strong and left her groggy. Putai continued, tireless, realigning the bones and masterfully sealing them together, using the only tools she had: wisdom, hard work and her strong hands._

_She didn’t know why she had decided to save that Westerner's life. Her father didn’t approve of that - nor the rest of the tribe, either. It would've been easier to let her go...which meant to do her a favor, because the Bedouin woman knew how to grant a painless death. But Putai the shaman never brought death, only life, and she wasn't willing to change her habits._

_Patiently, she repaired that body, so pale, so badly hurt. She knew how to do that. The brave warriors of her tribe, those stallions that boasted of being men and being strong, and sang songs in honour of Allah with their booming voices, became like little kids under Putai’s hands. Wounds annulled their manhood. They cried, begged, and cried again. They writhed, calling their mothers. They humbled themselves before this black woman. And she knew then she was strong, she was superior. When they just came back to being healthy, they again swelled their chest, lifting their chins. Men!_

“ _Putai...” She heard Lara’s moan, half blinded by the drug._

“ _Sleep, my sister.” The shaman whispered, stroking her wet cheek. “Sleep.”_

 

* * *

 

“It's my fault.” Kurtis muttered, holding his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the kitchen table.

Marie was sitting opposite. They both were still soaked in blood.

“It's _not_. Why do you blame yourself?”

“I saw it before it happened. I had a premonition.”

“But you didn’t see it clearly. Farsee is neither clear nor accurate. Sometimes it shows things that already have happened. Other times, things that will happen. And it often shows things that will _never_ happen! You know this better than me!”

He looked up. His eyes were glassy. “What’s the point of being clairvoyant if I can’t accurately interpret what I see? I could've avoided this!”

“ _You've avoided her death!”_ Marie broke. “You warned her, you told her she had to protect herself! You _actually_ pointed to the spot where the bullet struck her! That's clairvoyance, Kurtis! And when she saw the shot coming, I'm sure she remembered your words, and she covered herself where you told her. You understand? If she’s still alive, it’s because of _you!_ If both the arm bone and flesh hadn't slowed the bullet's rate, it would've sunk deeper into her chest and pierced her heart. It would've killed her on the spot. She’s still alive thanks to you. No more blaming!” She took a cup of coffee off the table and drained it in one gulp. Then she looked tenderly at him and said: “You should rest. You look terrible.”

“I won’t rest until she’s well. And even then I’d have something to do. The people at the camp are still at the mercy of those bastards.”

“You can’t save the whole world. If you don’t rest you won’t be able to fight.”

But he got up, returned to the room where Lara lay and sat next to her. She was sleeping and had stopped raving, but she was still very weak. She was dreaming.

 

* * *

 

“ _I want to tell you my story.” Putai said, smiling. “I want to tell you my story because I see you're bored lying there. But you won’t get up until I command it.”_

 _Lara smiled. She still had half of her body bandaged and splinted. Putai mocked her, saying she looked like those mummies people like her used to dig up. "Don’t dig up the dead, Lara,”_ _the Bedouin woman had said to her, "you must not open the graves. Look what happened to you for raiding tombs." And Lara laughed._

“ _I was born in Abyssinia.” Began the shaman. “You know where it is? You call it Ethiopia. It’s a beautiful country. The people are black like me, black as the wood of the baobab. There are many Christians, but I was born Muslim. I had a husband and a child, back there in Ethiopia.”_

“ _You had a child?” Lara said._

“ _A toddler. They snatched him from me.” She sighed. “The Bedouin make slaves of black people. They consider us inferior, even though we're all Muslims, even though in Islam there are no classes or upper or lower castes. One day we were attacked. They attacked the village. They killed the men, and the women and children were taken as slaves. I was raped many times by the Bedouin warriors. They took my son. I've never seen him again. I should've hated them because they destroyed what I loved the most - but I don’t. Hatred devours the heart...and what matters is to live.”_

“ _I can’t understand you.” Lara said. “If I were you, as soon as possible, I’d have taken a gun and the more of those bastards I kill, the better.”_

“ _That's because you don’t have a child.” Said Putai. “You couldn’t stand being raped. How many of them could you kill? Ten, twenty? And when they caught you, they would've killed you. But I didn’t do as you say - and that's why I'm alive. When I arrived to this tribe, I was nothing to them, just a slave. But they soon discovered my healing skills. They were amazed, nothing like that had ever been seen among their women. Over time, they came to fear me. They call me a witch. They think I have power, that I heal with magic. There's no magic, Lara, just hard work and good heart. Over time, I lost the status of slave and became the most revered woman, more respected than the older mothers. The chief of the tribe, whom I call father, adopted me as a daughter. He told me, “Ask me whatever you want, Putai, and I'll give it to you”. I asked for my son, but he couldn't return him to me. Who knows where he is now, in which tribe he'd gone. I asked him then that a man could never be allowed to touch me again. And that was my reward.” The black woman’s green eyes flashed with vitality. Lara looked at her, silent._ “ _Do you understand this, Westerner? Hate's not the answer. You would have killed and you would have died. I chose to love and to heal those who'd hurt me, and I’m alive.”_

“ _You and me,” Lara said, “do not live in the same world.”_

 

* * *

 

She opened her eyes. The pain had subsided. She could breathe. “Kurtis?”

He raised his head. He had washed and shaved himself, but he still looked terrible, with dark circles under his eyes, exhausted and sleepless because of being awake next to her. “Welcome back, M'lady.”

Lara raised her hand and touched her chest, covered in thick bandages. Then she touched her wounded arm with the rigid splint. “How long have I’ve been unconscious?”

“A few days.”

She looked stunned - couldn't believe it.

“We kept you sedated. You were in agony.”

“I dreamed of...” She whispered. “I thought...” _Putai._ She'd seen her so clearly, speaking, whispering to her, smiling as she told her terrible story. But it couldn’t be - Putai was dead. She'd been killed, shot down in the sunshine of Egypt - the sun and the land she loved, as she'd loved Ethiopia before.

“You had a fever.” Kurtis said then. “Luckily it’s been short-lived.”

“Where am I?”

“At my home!” Then a voice said. “At least, for now!”

Lara looked towards the door. The woman who'd just entered was tall and strong and looked like she’d been beautiful once. The British explorer recognized her immediately, for she'd seen her in her visions, only the black hair she remembered was now sooty white, and her reddish soft skin was now crossed with a few wrinkles. She wore a long leather coat and jeans, and tied her hair at the nape with a feather trim. The dreamcatcher hung around her neck. “This old lady you see here is Marie Cornel.” She said with a smile. “I’m Kurtis’ mother, and also your healer. Although I see, you remember more from your former healer.”

“I appreciate very much what you've done for me.” Lara said.

“In fact, without your strength you wouldn’t have made it. But too soon to talk, I haven’t removed that bullet yet. I was afraid to touch it, you've spent a few days with fever. Although I’m a good healer, I seem not to be as good, apparently, as that Putai you've been talking about. I'd have liked to have met her.” Then she turned towards Kurtis and rebuked: “Are you gonna get some sleep at last? Or will I have to knock you out?”

“I will.” He said.

When he left, Marie sat next to Lara and whispered: “He told me how you were injured, so I know everything about the Scepter. Who betrayed you?”

“It was Bathsheba. Have you ever heard of her?”

Marie nodded. “Yes...an angelic-looking woman, beautiful like a morning sun....and in less than a month, she curses Meteora's _hegumenos_ and has him possessed by a demon, steals the Periapt, tries to get the Shards, attacks me on my ranch and makes me flee to Turkey, and betrays you leaving you at the _mafioso’s_ wrath. What a specimen!”

“Wait...” Muttered Lara. “She attacked you?”

“Yes, under the shape of a woman of mist. An albino woman shrouded in fog.”

Lara's eyes widened. She tried to get up, but a twinge of pain stopped her. “I was attacked by a similar creature in Surrey, my homeland! Was she Bathsheba?”

“She might be.”

“But what...”

“Listen, child.” Marie lowered her voice. “I've been the wife of a Lux Veritatis and I've given birth to another one. At this point it’s difficult to fool me...this Bathsheba's _not_ a human being. An ordinary person doesn't cast curses, nor gives orders to the demons and has them obeyed. It’s another kind of being, a supernatural creature. Probably she’s no more than another demon, a damned monster in the guise of a beautiful young lady.”

Lara spent a few moments in silence. Then she said: “Well, that demon, that monster in a princess’ skin, doesn’t want only the Periapt and the Shards. She's demanded your son’s head.”

The old woman leaned back in her seat, lost in thoughts. Then she hissed: “Who the hell is this creature? Demons have no hierarchy; they don’t obey each other. Only the _Nephili_ could control them. Who's this Bathsheba, whom the demons obey?”

 

* * *

 

“Sssht! Hush, hush!” Selma huddled in the corner. At her side, Zip was a nervous wreck. “I can hear ‘em!” Gasped the hacker.

They had spent three days wandering in the dark. They had descended to Tenebra. At first, they had been many people, but some had been caught by the Italians. Selma didn’t want to think about their fate. When they were in the tunnels, suddenly the manticores had appeared. How many they were, twenty, thirty? The Turkish girl didn't know - she'd just shouted: “Run! Run and don’t look at their faces!”

And they had run. Some, full of terror, had been left behind. Others had made the mistake of looking at them...and saw themselves reflected in those hellish faces. They had killed those poor wretches. But the main group, including Selma and Zip, had reached the pit and went down the ropes. The manticores had chased them. They went down the pit walls slowing slipping with their claws, and they had spread out into the putrid pit.

Could've been worse. Could've been a death trap. But the monster seemed satisfied...for it hadn't opened its jaws to devour them. They crossed running over its teeth and these didn’t open. Selma wondered why.

And finally, they reached Tenebra. There were about twenty, thirty-five apart from Selma and Zip. The fastest, the strongest ones. There was no turning back.

“Turn off that flashlight!” Selma ordered a girl, who obeyed her, trembling.

They were silent. From a distance, they could hear the clicks and whistles from the manticore’s jaws, lurking nearby. They wouldn't kill them, content to stalk them, to make them suffer.

Selma squeezed the Scepter in her hands. She felt guilty. Her exultant speech had led them to that. What was worse, death by being shot down by the Italians or death crushed by the multiple teeth of those demons? She'd only wanted to save them!

After a while, the boy who they’d sent to inspect returned. “There are dead people there!” He hissed, terrified. “Crucified people!”

“The Lux Veritatis.” Whispered Selma.

Again there was silence.

“What should we do, princess?” Zip asked then.

She thought for a moment, turning the silver Scepter in her hands. She looked around and saw the exhausted and terrified faces of all the young people who'd come voluntarily to work in the excavation. Now she was the only one responsible for their lives. “This scepter was found in the temple. We've to find the temple and enter.”

“That will save us from the manticores?” Cried another girl.

“I don’t know.” Selma frowned. “Kurtis knows about demons. But I'm not Kurtis. I'm just an archaeologist and the only thing I can think of now is to seek refuge at the statue of the goddess whom the _Nephili_ revered - and _Nephili_ were feared by manticores. Maybe she'll give us protection. Maybe not. But we must reach Lilith".


	20. Punishment

Sciarra, lifting his chin, walked to where Monteleone was waiting in his chair. The boss wasn’t as handsome as before, now lacking the entire front row of his teeth. Of course that would be soon solved as he had a personal dentist to fix that little problem. But he was furious and if he could kill Kurtis, he would've done so without hesitating. But he'd more important matters to attend to and Kurtis wasn't for him.

“Did you call me, _signore?”_

“Bring me Maddalena.”

Sciarra didn’t expect otherwise. With a sly smile painted on his face, he went toward the prostitutes’ area, grabbed the redhead woman by her arm and led her there. Maddalena released herself from the bully’s grip and said: “No need to take me in tow.”

A group of men and prostitutes gathered around them, interested in the scene. Monteleone said then: “Sciarra, what should we do with the youth we caught from the excavation?”

“Kill them all.” He smiled.

“No!” A voice raised from the crowd. “Did you see those monsters who attacked us? Release them! Let those things eat them!”

Monteleone shook his head. “Let them go. Leave them to their fate. But now my interest is you, Maddalena.”

She looked down. Tufts of reddish hair were partly hiding her face.

“Maddalena, you betrayed me.” Said the gangster. “I saved you from Siracusa’s port, where you had a dirty and unworthy life. I granted you a home and a future, I honoured you as I never did with anyone before, I made you my favourite. And in my hardship, you join my enemy and help him to escape from his pursuers.”

“Ah!” Sciarra said. “Ask her, _signore_ , why she did it. Maddalena was interested in that American from the first time she saw him. He’s strong and hot, right? I heard this bitch talking to her Chinese friend about serving him without even charging him.”

Maddalena paled. A few yards away, Bay Li shuddered.

“Is that true?” Monteleone said. “Then, Bay Li, you also betrayed me. You know you can do what pleases you, as long as you charge your clients. Don’t I support you? But you, Maddalena, _you_ should be loyal to me!

“I did _nothing_!” Groaned Bay Li. “I was just talking and laughing with her! Maddalena hasn't broken her oath, I know!”

Sciarra approached her, looked at her for a moment, smiling, and then slapped her. “ _Puttane!”_ He spat. “You're all cunning and deceitful. You spread your legs for every man you find. You’ve neither honour nor dignity, you’re unclean and filth pours out of you through every pore of your skin.”

Bay Li put her hand to her flushed cheek, and looked down, sobbing. All around, the other prostitutes remained silent, terrified.

_Why does he allow him to slap her?_ Maddalena thought, looking furious at Monteleone, who was observing the scene quietly. _We’re whores, not animals!_

“So you betrayed me because you’re infatuated with the blue-eyed man.” The boss said, calmly. “Then I'll tell you one thing, _cara mia_. That man's doomed. He has powerful enemies, so it seems. The beautiful woman who visited us the other day did me a huge favour. Well, now it’s her business if that man lives or dies and I’m afraid he'll die. So you can forget him from now on.” He got up, maintaining his graceful and serene attitude. “As for me, I'm still here, _cara mia_ , and I’m _very_ offended by your behaviour. I've had much patience with you. You’ll receive punishment, and you should pray to the three Sicilian patron saints that when I'm done I'll be too exhausted to order your execution.” He took off his belt with a hitch and grabbed it by the end, so that the buckle was left hanging.

Sciarra, rejoicing, went towards Maddalena and with a jerk, tore her dress. She was naked underneath.

“On your knees!” Then ordered Monteleone.

She knelt down and leaned her forehead on the floor, revealing her back. Her beautiful hair scattered on the ground. The _capo_ raised the belt to give the first blow, but then he stopped.

The white back, the tender sides of the woman were covered with scratches and bruises. The _mafioso_ took her by the neck and made her get up and stay on her knees, while looking stunned at the bites on her neck, the scratches and cuts on her breasts and soft belly, and also her bruised thighs.

“What's this?” Monteleone sputtered. “Who touched you without my permission?

Sciarra was no longer so exultant. The smile faded from his face. He went two steps back.

Maddalena opened her eyes. Tufts of red hair still covered her face, but through them Monteleone saw how her golden eyes dug into Sciarra.

“It was him.” She said, pointing at him. “He raped us, both me and Bay Li.”

“Bitch!” Shouted Sciarra. “You _porca puttana!_ Have you heard the lies she lets loose from her filthy mouth?”

Monteleone turned and looked at Bay Li. “Is that true?”

The Chinese woman hesitated, frightened. Then she said: “Yes.”

“Liar!” Yelled Sciarra.

“He said that if we didn’t let him do,” continued Maddalena, “he would tell you I was talking about Kurtis Trent. He raped me and then also raped her.”

“Bullshit!” Sciarra was getting hoarse. “Since when can a hooker be raped? Whores must take whatever they get! Wasn’t it my right to fuck that Chinese slut, if I wanted?”

“Yes.” Said Monteleone calmly. “That's what we've our girls for. For making you all happy. And to prevent anyone from laying a finger on Maddalena, who's mine and only mine, as everyone knows since the minute they begin working for me.” The voice of the _capo_ had become awfully quiet.

“Let my cock dry if I touched that nasty redhead!”

“Tell me then who has made those marks on her.”

“Who knows!” Mocked the other. “Perhaps after all that American laid a finger on her.”

Monteleone sighed. “I know you too well, my friend. I know the marks you leave on women. I know how you treat them. You could've had any girl you wanted, whoever you liked, except for her.” Turning to his men, he said. “Take him.”

Sciarra started screaming when they threw him over. He was grabbed by five men, and although he struggled with all his strength, they tied his hands and feet and dragged him away. His cries were heard from afar.

Maddalena was still naked on the floor, kneeling. The boss turned to her. “Your punishment is still standing, _cara mia_. Here all must be punished, each one for their own sins. Bend.”

She bent down and then he lashed her. And another blow, and another. Maddalena had felt only a couple of times the bite of the belt buckle, but she tried to resist. Unfortunately, the blows fell on already bruised flesh and soon she began to moan and then, when her skin split and the flesh was exposed, she started to scream with each stroke.

No one moved around. All were silent, men and women. No one enjoyed the show. It wasn't the first time they saw such a punishment, but it was the first time to see the ordeal of someone as important, as supposedly beloved by the boss. That made them feel insecure.

When at last his arm hurt, Monteleone had given her around fifty strokes. Maddalena's back looked terrible, laced with cuts and blood trails. The boss turned to tighten his belt without even cleaning it and said: “Looks like Agata, Lucia, and Rosalia had mercy on you. I won’t strike you more. But I'm still mad at you, so I don’t want to see you for a while.”

Turning round, he went into his tent. Maddalena didn't move. It seemed she'd fainted. Gradually, the group was dissolved. They were afraid to help her. Only Bay Li was the one who, after looking all around, came and leaned over her friend. But Maddalena was conscious - her eyes were open.

Gently, the Chinese woman gathered her in her arms. “I’ll heal you.” She murmured. “I've an ointment from my land that will make you fine, you'll see.”

The redhead groaned and buried her face in her friend's shoulder, shivering in pain.

“Weep, Maddalena.” Bay Li said then. “You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t want to weep.” She whispered. “I want to laugh. Laugh at that bastard Sciarra, whom I have just crushed.”

Bay Li smiled. “We're just whores, but we've power. We've the means. We've crushed him.”

They stood in silence, embracing in the middle of the camp.

“You think the boss will kill him?” Then muttered the Chinese woman. “He’s his favourite. No one shoots like him. I think he's very appreciated.”

“If he doesn’t kill him, I’ll do it myself.” Maddalena swore under her breath.

 

* * *

 

Marie managed to extract the bullet the next day, again using the sharp, hot needle. Lara bled some more, but it was easy to stop the bleeding this time.

“Congratulations.” Said the old woman, smiling. “You made it, but you're not totally out of danger. You still need to recover for a while.”

“What will happen to my friends?” She said, and turned towards Kurtis. “Selma, Zip, and the others!”

“And not just them.” He added. “This shelter won’t be safe for long.”

The Navajo woman made a gesture of annoyance. “Impossible! You already heard me. She needs to rest to recover completely. I won’t run away again. At least, not while she can’t get up.”

“No need to worry about.” Kurtis said, and grimaced bitterly. “It's easy. They’re looking for me, right? So I’ll be the one to run away.”

Lara looked up and stared at him. “What are you thinking? To attract them? To draw them away from here?”

He nodded.

“I don’t like the idea!” Then broke Lara.

“Neither do I!” Marie broke out in turn.

“You said it yourself.” Kurtis didn’t lose his coldness. “This Bathsheba is looking for me. Well, _she’s gonna find me._ But when she meets me it won’t be here. Lara needs to recover and also needs you to do so. I’m the one who's putting both of you in danger, so it would be stupid now that Lara's better for me to stay here a moment longer.”

There was silence. Marie sighed: “Well. Seems I was born to suffer for my loved ones. Do what you feel is right, but don’t risk yourself too much. I don’t want to lose you too, dammit!” She turned and left the room abruptly.

Lara was still staring at him with a glance of reproach.

“I'll search for Selma, Zip, and the others.” Kurtis said. “And then I’ll try to find out what this Bathsheba wants. She'd better watch out!”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know. But when has something not been dangerous in my lifestyle?”

Lara grabbed him by the neck and kissed him, then she said: “Don’t think I'll be waiting for you. As soon as I feel better, I'll join you. And don’t try to stop me because...”

“I know, I know.” Kurtis kissed her again. “Don’t be stubborn and do what my mother tells you. I know she seems like a good woman, but really she’s like you: if you try to argue with her, she can be really annoying.”

“Thanks!” She growled.

He turned and left the room. Passing through the kitchen, Kurtis heard a soft sound coming from the kitchen.

With her head bowed, Marie was sobbing.


	21. The Bitter Price

They were close. Very close, since they could now glimpse it, standing proud amid the square and shining through the luminous water. “There's the temple!” Zip hissed.

Selma, crouched in the darkness and clutching the Scepter in her hand, was sweating. Yes, there it was, about twenty steps away. But the place was quiet, too quiet...and she was afraid to cross the square.

“What are we waiting for?” Said one of the guys...Selma could never remember his name.

Zip made a gesture, telling him to shut up. The Turkish archaeologist was straining to hear the slightest rustle, the lowest whistle, the quietest snap, in fact, any sound which might reveal that those things were close. But the silence was dense. “Let's do this.” She said then. “I'll go first. The others will go behind me, and Zip in the rear.”

The hacker didn’t like that proposal, but he didn’t complain.

“You see the temple doors.” The Turkish girl said, pointing at them with the rod. “Run towards them and _don't_ look back. Whoever arrives first should push with their full strength to open them...and whoever gets there last must close them.”

“And if they don’t open?” Whispered a girl named Karen.

“If they don’t open... Allah have mercy on us.”

Zip looked at her. She was dirty and her clothes were torn. Hours earlier she'd fallen and rolled down a cliff and was cut across the cheek, dyeing her skin with blood, but for him she looked more beautiful than ever. However, the twenty people with them were equally dirty and bruised.

“Well, here we go.” She whispered. “One...two...three!”

They started to move as if ejected, running with all their forces towards the alabaster doors. But they hadn't even reached halfway through the square when the monsters showed up.

There were five manticores. They went out from the corners, through the windows, and rushed upon them. One cut off Selma’s way. The other knocked down another boy, who began to scream in terror.

Zip was the one who, despite being the last, reached the doors first. He pounced wildly on them and began kicking and punching. “Open, ya goddamn fucking door!”

Karen joined the other boy's screams. The beasts were around them. Selma saw, scared, how the manticore who'd grabbed one of them nailed its jaws in his throat and began to shake him like a ragdoll, so that drops of blood were flying through the air.

“Open already, fuck!” Zip was still howling, who'd nearly flayed both hands banging on the door.

The Turkish woman leaped forward and swung the Scepter in an arc, screaming with all her will. Karen and the other guy huddled behind her, while the rest were piled next to Zip, some covering his back, others trembling with terror.

But the manticores were in no hurry. In the distance, the cries of the victim had gone out - he was already dead. Throwing him aside, the manticore, with its bloodstained jaws, joined the others in their slow progress towards their preys, who were retreating towards the door.

“Go back!” Selma sobbed, scared to death, wielding the Scepter. “Get away!”

At that time, the doors opened at last, and Zip fell face down on the marble floor of the temple. “I’m in!” He gasped.

All the young people, panicked, turned and ran into the temple, leaping over the poor Zip. Selma stood alone against the five manticores.

“Selma!” Yelled Zip. “Come on!”

But she was afraid to turn away from them. She saw them moving forward with that smiling face, swinging their lethal stinger on both sides, while their features replicated the girl’s face to scare her more.

Zip was now at her side. “Selma, c'mon, let's go inside!”

“You go.” She moaned. “I...”

Suddenly, a manticore pounced on them. Shrieking, Selma raised the Scepter and hit its head - and then something amazing happened. The beast landed on all fours and began to squirm, letting out shrieks of pain. It rolled on the floor, rubbed its head, and finally turned around and sped away.

The other four manticores froze, staring at the Scepter, which Selma held with trembling hands. At that moment, Zip had an idea - he took the silvery rod and with a cry, sprang forward. The manticores shrieked and fled.

“Look at that!” Cried the boy. “This thing scares them!” And without thinking, he rushed after them, wielding the scepter, screaming with all his might.

Selma ran to the boy on the floor. He was the one whose name she could never remember - but he was dead, his throat torn apart.

 

* * *

 

“Ahaha! Yeah you _better_ run, smelly flea bags! Move your paws!” Zip was exultant as he chased the manticores, making a fuss with the Scepter as if holding a torch. But the demons were faster than him and soon disappeared from his sight. No matter- he'd driven them away! He'd saved Selma! And also the others, of course, _but Selma too!_

Jumping, he climbed on an angel’s statue, and raising the Scepter, yelled: “I’m a Lux Veritatis!”

“You're _what?”_ Said a mocking voice at his side.

Zip almost fell, frightened. He looked down and saw Kurtis at the statue’s feet, arms crossed and looking at him with a grin on his face.

“Geez, Kurt, you scared the shit outta me!” The hacker jumped to the ground.

“The hell were you doing?” He said. “And my name’s _Kurtis!”_

The boy's chest swelled with pride. “I scared them! Me on my own! I bet you'd never...”

“Of course _not_. I'd _never_ go running and screaming like an asshole in an ancient city potentially full of enemies, waving around an ancient object like a toy. Bring that here!” And he grabbed the Scepter out of Zip's hand.

“Whatever, man.” The hacker replied. “But those things went running with their tails between their legs once they saw the… well, not exactly ‘saw’, when Selma hit one of them, it seemed to hurt and then the others...”

“They got scared and fled. So it was her who did it - and you showing off is gonna get us all killed. Move on!”

Grunting, Zip obeyed. On reaching the temple they saw the others sitting at the feet of Lilith statue. Karen held the corpse of the dead boy as Selma bandaged his neck to keep his head together with his body.

Seeing Kurtis, the Turkish archaeologist rose, ran towards him and hugged him: “Thank God you're here!” She sobbed.

“Why did you come down here?” He said, dismayed. “This place's dangerous!”

“We didn’t know what to do!” She told him. “The mafia was after us and the only way out was down here. But I regret it. Many have died...and those things almost got us killed. I suggested to come to the temple, but we almost didn’t make it...”

“What have you done with this?” Kurtis said, showing her the Scepter.

Selma shrugged. “I was scared to death and I hit a manticore. But I barely touched its head, it was hard as stone!”

“And that harmed it?”

“It screamed as if burned with something hot. Then the others fled when Zip threatened them with the Scepter.”

The man had fallen silent, staring at the silver rod. Then he said: “Close the doors. We’ll stay here overnight and try to leave tomorrow. The Italians have set the others free and they’ve left.”

“Are they gone?”

“That can be good or bad. They still want the Scepter, so we should to count on that.”

They lay at the statue’s foot. The excavators and Zip soon fell asleep, but Selma and Kurtis stayed awake a long time. The Turkish woman wanted to know what had happened and how Lara was. Then she murmured: “What should we do? Return the Scepter to its place?”

Kurtis looked up. Lilith seemed about to take flight and didn't seem to notice that she lacked her rod. “No.” He finally decided. “The Scepter's no longer safe anywhere, so many people are looking for it. I don’t know for sure what to do, but I know it hurts demons which are hard to hurt...you can only get rid of them by killing them instantly. And if such strong demons are harmed by this, that’s because it’s more than a silver rod.”

He remained silent for a moment. Selma murmured: “Monteleone wanted the Scepter. Bathsheba is searching for you. She also has the Periapt and wants the Shards, so it’s not unlikely she also wants the Scepter.”

“The Periapt and its Shards. The Scepter.” Kurtis wiped the sweat from his forehead. “They’re trying to gather powerful weapons.”

“And to seize a very powerful man.” Selma whispered, staring at him.

He didn’t answer. His eyes were lost.

“They're preparing something big.” Continued Selma. “Any idea of what that could be, and what they want?”

“Of whom they are, yes.” Said Kurtis. “I didn’t want to say at first, but I suspected it from the start. Monteleone's just a greedy thug who collects rare objects. Even he’s unable to believe that bullshit about the Scepter. But Bathsheba and her men know what they’re doing...I bet they’re the Cabal.”

Selma's eyes moistened and she shuddered from head to toe. “The Cabal!” She gasped. “But...but...we stopped them! The police...put them all behind bars! Right?”

“The devil looks after his own.” Kurtis snorted. “And we didn’t stop them all...some of them escaped...like Giselle Boaz.”

The girl looked up to overlook the beautiful statue. She shuddered again. “Holy God...we’re in a mess!”

Kurtis ran his hand over the Scepter, stroking its decorated arabesque lines. “If this thing has always been here, why the hell haven’t they come for it until now? What makes them so interested in it?”

“Apart from scaring demons?”

He looked up again, looking at Lilith. The beautiful goddess’ face threw a serene glance to the sky, her lips slightly parted. “Lilith,” Kurtis then said, “was highly revered by the _Nephili_. She had many names: The First Born, The One Who Makes Herself, The Mother Of All. She was a symbol for them. I don’t know if there was a woman, goddess or demon, named Lilith, who gave birth to that nasty offspring...but it’s clear they worshipped her. And the demons feared only the _Nephili_ , so that if they identified the goddess with the _Nephili_...”

“...it’s likely they were afraid of her!” Selma's eyes were shining. “That's why I decided to come here, to protect us!”

Kurtis nodded, still staring at the statue. “It’s likely but not sure. And the Scepter carried by Lilith has hurt a demon with a simple touch.” He sighed. “No idea about what it all means. Only one thing is clear: we have to bear up with this thing...at least for now.”

 

* * *

 

Marie spent the whole night sleepless. She wandered from the kitchen to the courtyard, to the kitchen again, and walked up and down the hallway like a lost soul. After two hours, when it was past midnight, she sat by Lara’s bedside. The British explorer was awake too, tired of being still, and smiled at the Navajo woman, pointing towards the amulet around her neck: “That dreamcatcher is already a symbol.”

“It has belonged to my family for generations.” Marie smiled. “My great grandmother made it with her own hands and has always been with us. My people believed that this filtered evil spirits, pushing the misfortunes away from our children. But it was hung over my crib while I was a baby and then I hung it myself on my son’s crib, and never has evil or misfortune been spared from us. We've suffered all kinds of trials. Still, I love having it.” She took a comb from her pocket and began to brush her hair.

“May I ask...”

“Ask. An old woman like me gets bored if not asked.”

“...how did you meet Konstantin? You're Navajo and he, as far as I know, was German.”

Marie's eyes welled up when she heard that. Lara feared to have delved into a deep wound, but then she began: “Yes, he was the son of a Greek mother and German father. His father was Gerhardt Heissturm...and was a Lux Veritatis. But when I met my husband it had been a while since Gerhardt had been killed...and Konstantin lived with the obsession to avenge his father and survive himself. I met him in 1966. He was 33 years old and I saved his life. I was in Europe with my father, who was an officer and worked with Navajo code, the language of our tribe, which had proved to be so useful to the USA in World War II. I saw him crawling on the floor, bleeding. I didn't know what happened, but I heard shots from a distance and without thinking, I took his arm, picked him up and we hid in an alley. Then I saw him...Pieter Van Eckhardt. He drew close to us but he didn’t see us. He walked and went away with all his followers. We were safe. I took him home and between my father and me, we healed him. We wanted to know who was chasing him and why, but he never answered. I fell in love, but he was too cold and stern to say anything. Furthermore, it was pointless...my father and I would soon return to the USA and I lost his trail...I’ll always remember what he said to me: ‘Thank you, Marie Cornel. But you might not have done me a favour by saving me.’

"It took me a while to understand his words. He disappeared from my life and I returned to my homeland...but in 1969, just four years later, I saw him in Colorado. He came to me. He'd been searching for me all that time."

She sighed and paused, staring into her lap.

“He told me who he was and who his enemies were, and why they wanted him dead. He told me what he could do...the power which had been granted to him...and asked me if I was able to live with him, knowing that the future wasn't guaranteed and he could die at any moment; so he'd marry me, because he couldn't stand being alone and was in love with me. I accepted without hesitation...and we got married.”

She smiled then.

“The rest you can imagine. I learnt to fight with him and lose the fear of his enemies. We suffered a lot, but we endured because we were together. But Kurtis was born in 1972...so I had to leave him then. Eckhardt immediately knew we had a child. The old monster was cunning - not content with harassing my husband, he put a price on my son's head, who was just a baby. Konstantin was still his target, but he became obsessed in killing Kurtis. And we didn’t know then if he'd have the Gift...I prayed every night of my pregnancy to the spirits of my people, so he didn’t inherit the Gift...but they didn't listen to me. Within ten years, Kurtis did something incredible, and I had to give up all my hopes.”

She shook her head again.

“Sorry, honey. I'm boring you.”

“Certainly _not._ ” Lara said. “Kurtis never speaks about himself, so I'm dying to know.”

Marie smiled again, and her dark eyes sparkled. “You know what he did? It was serious. He was ten years old...he was only a child. But what he did wasn't a joke.”

“What did he do?” Lara said.

The Navajo's eyes darkened.

 

* * *

 

“ _Marie! Marie Cornel!”_

_The woman immediately stepped onto the porch. Four men came running to the house...chasing another, who was wounded. She recognized him._ “ _Stevens!” She cried._

“ _Marie, help me!”_

_No more needed. She turned, ran to the bunker where they stored weapons and frantically tried to find the rifle. But it wasn't here. It wasn't here!_

_There were a few shots, and then a thud to the ground. She turned and saw the poor Stevens, whom she'd sheltered_ _for months, lifeless on the ground, his head riddled with shots._

_Three of the four mercenaries entered then._ “ _Well, well!” Sang one of them. “But what are my eyes seeing? If it isn’t Konstantin's wife!”_

“ _Get outta my house!” She yelled._

“ _Where's your hubby? Should he_ _not be protecting you?”_

_The third pounced on her, but Marie kicked him in the stomach, making him bend double. She sprang to the room door and closed it with a bang, while sticking one after another the latches with trembling hands. Then she ran between rooms._ “ _Kurtis! Kurtis!_ ” _She cried in an anguished voice. “Where are you?”_

“ _He’s here.” Said another voice._

_Marie stopped short and uttered a cry of horror. The fourth man, whom she hadn't seen entering the front door, was there, holding her ten-year-old son, gun pointing him on the head._

“ _Please, let him go.” Marie begged. “He’s only a child...”_

“ _The Black Alchemist wants him dead. Not for me to challenge him.”_

_The back door collapsed and the other three came in and grabbed Marie, who suddenly seemed to have lost all her strength._

“ _Well, what are you waiting for?” Shouted one. “You've got the brat! Kill him now!”_

“ _Yeah, so meanwhile what will you do with the woman? You’ll have her, right?”_

“ _What do you care!”_

“ _What do I care? Asshole! That sucker Konstantin chose_ _a pretty good one, don’t you think? What if we amuse ourselves with her?”_

“ _Okay, but first kill the brat!”_

_Marie began to mourn while the other three dragged her to the next room. And then, Kurtis, pale and frightened, murmured:_ “ _Leave my mother alone.”_

_The tone in which he said that made everyone stop._

“ _What did he say?”_

“ _To leave his_ _mother.”_

“ _What the...! Sneezy devil, kill him...!”_

“ _Leave my mother alone.” The kid repeated, and he said it with a rare earnestness to his young age._

_Then the man who was holding him slapped him._ “ _You know what? We'll have his_ _mother right here, so he can see it all!”_

“ _Bastards!” Cried Marie. “He's just a kid!”_

“ _A cub that can become a lion.” Whispered the other. “C'mon, let’s finish this. The Alchemist can come at any time.”_

_They threw the woman against the wall and rushed to tear off her clothes. Then everything happened so fast. The four windows in the room exploded into pieces, one after another. The mercs screamed and dropped Marie._

“ _The fuck was that!” Shrieked one. “Is there a Lux Veritatis here?”_

“ _Moron!” Said the other. “Don’t you see? It's the kid!”_

_Kurtis was still standing in the middle of the room, his face flushed and breathing hard._

“ _Let's end this!” Said one of them, and pointing at the child with the gun, he fired._

_Marie screamed like she could have been heard to the world’s end. But that day Kurtis didn’t die. The bullet aimed at his head stopped and remained suspended in the air only a few feet from his face. He looked straight at the projectile...and it suddenly fell down._

_The astonished gunmen had no time to react. Suddenly, the broken crystals arose from the ground and, like arrows shot with accuracy, pierced their bodies from side to side. They screamed, dropped their weapons, and tried to flee. But they were dead before reaching the door - stabbed to death._

_Marie closed her eyes and trembled in her corner. She heard cracking and saw her_ _son coming toward her, his feet crushing the glass, stepping over the bodies. When he reached her, he smiled, held out his hand and said:_ “ _Let's go, Mom.”_

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know why I'm telling you this.” Marie said with a shudder. “You’ll think he's a monster.”

“Well.” Lara said, laughing. “If I'd known he could do such things since he was a kid, I'd have been less mean to him.”

Marie laughed softly and hid her face in her hands. “My son's not a monster. A ten-year-old boy shouldn't be submitted to such pressure. The Gift was there, lurking within him, waiting for the right time. And it jumped out when both my life and his were in danger. We never were so in danger as we were on that day...the day he lost his childhood. Konstantin was proud of him, but I'd been always horrified of that day, and so was he. He couldn’t bear to be reminded of that day for a while. He still can’t bear with what he’s able to do. But he's not a monster. He just wanted to protect his mother. He's not a...a freak.”

“No need to tell me, Marie.” Lara said, resting on the pillow. “I kill those trying to harm me, and I don’t consider myself a monster.”

The Navajo woman looked up – she had a pained expression on her face, as if she were burning inside. “What a life we’ve lived!” She sighed. “What I would've given to be a happy mother...what I would've given to have a normal child!”

“For that, you should have rejected Konstantin.”

“No way. I loved him. I may have regretted my life, but I've never regretted accepting him. But I regret that Kurtis inherited such power from his father. Konstantin was happy being what he was. He fought for a cause he felt worthy. But not Kurtis - he's been _so_ miserable.” She twisted the dreamcatcher, turning it over her chest.

“Marie.” Lara said then. “You _don’t_ have to keep talking about this.”

“No!” She said. “No! I've never talked about this to anyone. I'm tired of carrying this pain inside. If you want to hear me, let me do this. Let me find, at last, some relief.”

Lara had never felt so intrigued. That old woman had with her the yoke of a lifetime of suffering, and she was also the only one who'd talk to her about the man she loved, since he himself - and she already knew why - wasn’t willing to talk about his life.

“I saw Konstantin again when Kurtis was seventeen. He'd gone all that time without seeing him. He was so changed...he'd endured so much. He almost ignored me. His attention was focused on the boy, on his precious child, who was showing the powers that, according to the Grand Master, were stronger than his father’s, who at that time was the most respected and feared Lux Veritatis.” She smiled bitterly. “Poor Konstantin. Great was his disappointment when learning his son didn’t want to belong to the Order, nor was interested in the War of Shadows, nor in his powers, which he regarded like a disease, a burden difficult to bear.”

"For three years, he allowed them to train him. But at nineteen he'd had enough. The symbol had been tattooed on his shoulder and he’d been introduced to the Order - but he didn't want to know about that. He fled, and he went to the only place where his Fighter skills would be useful and nobody would ask about his past...also where we could never find him: The Foreign Legion. He was very clever. He changed his surname, from Heissturm to Trent, and got French citizenship. What happened in those years only is known by him. But he had to leave because they went for him there...”

“Who?” Lara interrupted.

“Demons. The Gift attracts them like a magnet. I guess that, in order to defend himself, Kurtis was forced to do things that terrified his superiors. He had to leave the Legion. He never told me about it, that's all I know. Finally, he joined Marten Gunderson’s squad."

“Ah.” Lara said, twisting her mouth. “Our old _friend_ Gunderson.”

“They had been friends in the Legion, where he became their leader. I've never approved killing for money...only then he became an assassin. But all ended as Gunderson agreed to work for the Cabal. As soon as Kurtis saw Eckhardt, he disappeared. Imagine what must have felt the Black Alchemist when he learned his cherished target had been so close to him...with his own troops..and he'd lost him! Old useless freak!” Marie laughed, but her laughter was short-lived. She became silent after a moment.

“Then, Konstantin died, right?” Lara ventured.

Marie nodded weakly. “It was retaliation. When Eckhardt knew Kurtis had eluded him, he resumed the hunt for my husband with a violence never seen before. He...found him in the end. He killed him and also killed all the remaining Lux Veritatis, minus my son. I was told he was crucified at Tenebra's gates...tell me...did you see him?”

Lara was silent for a moment. Then she said softly: “What do you want to hear, Marie?”

The Navajo woman hid her face in her hands. “I'd like to hear it's not true...that you haven’t seen him...that there are no crosses…that my husband didn’t die there, like that...”

Lara was silent.

Marie sobbed quietly, and then looked again at her, her face wet with tears. “You know, Lara? There are people you live with for a very little time...and they fill up your life. Others however, you wouldn't want to see them, and are always around. I saw Konstantin four times...four times in thirty long years. But I loved him until the end, and even now, at night, my hands still seek him in the dark. Konstantin was like a brief spring, like a dream which came in and out of my life in a flash. He spent only a short time with me, but he left me the most valuable thing he'd give me: Kurtis.”

Marie stood up, wiping away her tears as she said: “I don’t know if you understand what I mean. I know my son loves you. He didn't say - he never says a thing about what’s inside him. But I've noticed so in his eyes. I don’t want him to suffer one more day. I don’t want him crucified like his father. Nor do I want you to suffer as I suffered, even if it’s true you’re stronger than me. I'm so tired...”

She walked to the window while trying to stifle tears. Lara didn't know what to say.

“Listen to me, Lara. This has to end. We can’t be like this. You have to help him to get rid of this. I'm old and tired, tired of fighting. The Cabal took everything I loved. They still want more. They still want Kurtis so they won’t rest until they see him hanging from a cross. You’re the Amazon. You killed Eckhardt and found the key to killing Karel. You can get rid of this curse and free us.”

Lara looked at her, dumbfounded. She tried to say something, but was interrupted by Marie: “I've heard a lot about you. Some consider you the smartest woman in the world...also the strongest. I don’t believe in rumours. I believe in what I see...and in what my son told me about you. Kurtis survived Eckhardt. He also survived Karel. But he wouldn't survive Bathsheba...remember the day when I tell you.” She leaned over her and grabbed her hurt arm. Lara jumped.

“Swear to me you’ll help him to get rid of this! He should never have been what he is! Swear you'll help him!”

“I don’t believe in oaths.”

“But I do.”

“Ok. I swear.”

The Navajo woman’s face relaxed. She released Lara, who gasped in pain, and slowly went back. “Forgive me. I shouldn't talk to you like that. I'm just a crazy old woman. This is the bitter price I... we’ve all paid.” She turned and left the room.


	22. The Great Goddess' Power

Just a few hours later, Kurtis decided they had rested enough.

“What should we do with the corpse?” Karen asked ruefully.

“Leave it here. We can't do any more for him.”

They went across the city in silence as Kurtis ordered them. Luckily, they hadn't needed to go back across the pit of decay. In fact, Kurtis didn't mind dealing with that awful thing again; what he didn't want to do again was pass between the Lux Veritatis' crosses. He wouldn't admit it, but every time he saw them, standing there high and grotesque, blood boiled in his veins. He couldn't stand it.

So, the Lux Veritatis chose an alternate route, the one both Lara and him had used to return with the Scepter. The tunnel was rising from the right side of the city to join another tunnel a couple miles later, that led to the same well to the necropolis.

There were several hours of path ahead. A journey done in the most deadly silence. Selma walked with Kurtis, who held the Scepter in his hand. Although he didn't quite trust it, no creature attacked them.

They walked for hours to reach the circular walls of the large pit. Fortunately, there were ropes hanging, which had previously been used both by _mafiosi_ and operators to ascend and descend.

“Can we take a break now?” Zip complained.

“Take a rope and climb.” Kurtis ordered, ignoring the hacker.

Selma frowned, looking at the ropes. “And you?”

“I'll go last.” Kurtis said. “Go on!”

They obeyed and started to climb. The man reached and put down the light that had served to guide them in the dark: a plastic bottle filled with murky water. It had been an excellent resource when the batteries in the flashlights died out.

Kurtis watched in silence while they were climbing. Soon they disappeared from his sight, but he heard Zip's groans and the others' grunts for a while. They were going one by one, all twenty, until he lost view of the last one. Then he went over and took hold of a rope.

Suddenly he heard a click behind him. The Lux Veritatis turned abruptly and a second later he'd grabbed the Chirugai in his hand. No more was needed to recognize what was attacking him.

The manticore moved quietly towards him, grinding its three rows of teeth. Then Kurtis thought _why not?_ and raising his hand, take the Scepter and showed it to the creature.

The effect was immediate - the beast's eyes widened and it stopped. Then it began to emit a small noise like a groan, and its front paws bowed. Another one, which had appeared after the first, also stopped short.

“What the hell do you see in this thing?” Kurtis murmured in surprise.

“They see the Great Goddess' power.” Answered a sweet, musical voice from the deep darkness that lay behind the manticores.

Kurtis eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Show yourself!”

He heard a series of soft steps on the sand, and then, stained with the blue light from the bottle, a young woman appeared before him.

She wore a long white robe tied at the waist with a narrow strip of silk skirt, which covered her to the feet. She also wore a dark cloak over it, with the hood thrown back, and her hair fell across her body like a black veil. She smiled sweetly, then stretched one arm towards the manticores: “Come here, my little ones. He'll harm you if you get closer.”

And those terrible beasts suddenly become tamed puppies and approached her. One laid at her feet and another rubbed affectionately against her leg, while she stroked its head with her white hand. She was so beautiful, like a pagan goddess, like a Triformis Hecate.

“Manticores only fear two things.” She said then. _“Nephili's_ wrath...and the Scepter you're wielding. But it's been so long since they’ve last seen it. One chance was enough for them to feel its bite again, to remember it. Oh, how naive were my ancestors, who forgot such a powerful weapon was laying here below. But at last I recovered it.”

“We'll see.” Kurtis snapped. “Are you Bathsheba?”

She smiled again. “Yes, and you're Kurtis Trent. I've searched for you for so long...too long for me, for I see beyond minds and hearts. You're cunning and clever and you've managed to elude my vision...until now.”

“Why did you steal the Periapt and curse a helpless monk? Why did you attack two women who did nothing against you?”

“Because they were the guardians of what I wanted. Your _helpless monk_ tried to rape me, but that doesn't matter anymore. The Periapt is mine and now so are both you and the Scepter.”

“Really?” Kurtis grimaced. “What you gonna do to me? Tie my hands and gag me? Or maybe you'll knock me out with one punch?”

She smiled even more. “You say that to provoke me, because you're a strong man and I'm a frail and delicate maiden. But you're smarter than that, you know I sent a demon to enter into a monk's body and you see how the manticores lick my hands and kiss my feet. Don't provoke me, for I can crush you with a single gesture. You'll come with me.”

“Well then!” Kurtis said. “Come at me!” And dropping the Scepter, he raised the Chirugai, displaying its sharp blades. She stared at the multiple edges of that weapon, without saying a word. The manticore which was at her feet lifted and ruffling its hair, it began to growl.

“So this is the Chirugai.” She said at last. “I've heard of this weapon almost as much as I've heard of you. It's a legendary device...it's said that no wound caused by this will ever be healed. Did you know? I think not, because you do more than hurt with it. What you do is carnage. Well, are you going to cut me in pieces with it?”

“Only one way to find out,” Kurtis murmured, “come here.”

Suddenly, a manticore pounced on him. He hadn't expected so, however he reacted immediately. The demon's severed head rolled on the ground and Kurtis pushed off its corpse with a kick. The other manticore let out a squeal, but Bathsheba stopped her by taking her by the throat. “Quiet, little girl.” She said.

In launching the Chirugai, it had lodged itself in the wall, still vibrating while the manticore's blood slid along its edges.

The woman watched it as interested as fearless. “You must come with me,” she repeated, “whether you like it or not. You can come willingly or I can force you to do so. I know where you hide your mother and the wounded explorer...you wouldn't want anything bad to happen to them, right?”

“Don't even _dare_ threaten me.” He reached out and the Chirugai returned to his hand.

“So, enough chattering.” She said, and extended her arms forward.

Kurtis jumped back, preventing a possible attack, but she remained in that position, with clenched fists, while the manticores retreated slowly. Then she opened her hands and dropped a few rose petals, while uttering four strange words.

Before he could even prevent it, a wave of darkness hit Kurtis and threw him back. He hit his head against the wall and everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Sciarra remained tied to a lamppost for one day and one night. Meanwhile, he swore, insulted, and cursed all the hookers from all over the planet since the dawn of mankind.

At noon, Monteleone deigned to visit him. “Dear friend.” He said in his cold courtesy. “You're my favourite and I've always held you in high esteem. But your attitude doesn't help your situation. You know what I do with those who behave like you?”

And Sciarra could picture himself castrated and hanging from a light post, or rolling down a rocky cliff in that desert, or shot to death.

“Yes, you do. But you've been very, very lucky.” Then whispered the _capo_.

The minion saw someone approaching behind him - a tall, white man with a square jaw and a short moustache.

“This is Adolf Schäffer.” Said the _mafioso. “_ He's the head of the mercenary squad working for Bathsheba.”

“For the _Lady_ , if you please.” Schäffer replied sourly.

Monteleone shrugged. “I leave you to him. Farewell, my friend. _Ciao_.” The Italian man turned and walked away.

Schäffer stayed a while watching him, with the typical expression of hardness seen in some German officers in times of Nazism. “Your name?” He asked then.

“Giacomo Sciarra. The hell you want from me?”

“If I were you I'd be more polite. I'm the one who saved your ass. I'm very interested in acquiring you as part of my men. You have information about Monteleone's files that interests me. And incidentally, let’s say I paid a huge amount of money to make your boss spare you.”

“What if I don't want to?”

“Your boss will give me back the money and in return, he'll be happy to hang you himself. You choose.”

Sciarra remained silent, while studying that individual with suspicion.

“Just as expected. Farewell.” He said, turning around.

“Huh, no, no, wait! I-I-a-accept the deal! I say I agree, dammit!”

Schäffer turned, displaying a cruel smile. “Will you kill anyone without asking me who or why?”

“ _Yes!”_

“Will you have any qualms about revealing things only your former boss knows?”

“No, no! I'll say whatever you want!”

“Perfect.” He pulled a knife, opened it and cut his ties. Then he turned and walked away. Sciarra went after him. They crossed the camp, but nobody looked at them.

Except for one person. On the corner of his eye, he saw a red flame. He turned his head and noticed Maddalena standing there, watching him in silence.

Sciarra smiled and dragged his finger across his throat at her. _I'll find you again, puttana._

She turned around and returned to the tent.

 

* * *

 

“Kurtis! Kurtis!” Leaning over the pit, Selma never got tired of shouting. Zip, terrified, looked around, expecting to see an Italian appear. But there was no one there. The others had gone - Selma had authorized them to leave, discouraged.

“C’mon, princess, you can't stay here forever!”

“Then I'll go down to find him!”

“What? No, no, no!” The Turkish girl had already taken back the rope, but Zip snatched it from her hands. “Er...I'll go down.” And he began to descend.

Selma waited, trembling on the edge of the pit. After a while, she heard a scream in the bottom - something like: “Ooooh fuuuuuuck!!!”

“Zip? Zip!”

The rope began to shake severely, and soon the boy appeared as if the devil was chasing him up...which wasn't entirely false, because after him, Selma glimpsed a manticore chasing him by climbing up the wall.

“Hold on!” Selma cried, holding out her hand. She helped him to come up and then he pushed her down the hall. “C'mon, run!”

They ran through the tunnel as they heard the manticore going after them. When they finally came outside after four days of being in the dark, the daylight hurt their eyes, but they didn't stop.

“God, what should we do?”

“Get to the Jeep, princess!”

Sure! The bloody Jeep. They practically threw themselves on the vehicle, jumping over the doors, and Zip nervously grabbed the steering wheel.

“Do you know how to drive?” Said Selma.

“That's if I find the keys to this thing!”

“Shit!”

“What?”

“They're in the tent, with the maps!”

“ _What?”_

There was a _bang!_ that made them turn. In the rear a manticore was slowly climbing the trunk, smiling cruelly.

Selma jumped off the Jeep and ran towards the tents. The demon didn't hesitate and jumped after her, momentarily forgetting Zip.

“Heeeeey!” Cried the man to Selma. “If you get a sec, pick up my laptop!”

The girl went running into the tent at the same time the manticore reached her. Luckily, the monster hit the canvas and hooked its claws, so it took a moment to smash the tent. Selma, with a heavy heart, frantically rummaged maps, looking for the car keys. At last she found them...fixed in the corner of Zip's laptop screen. She jerked them, but they didn’t release. She took another pull, and still nothing. Hysterical, she closed the laptop shut and put it under her arm at the same time the manticore finally destroyed the fabric, entering the tent. It pounced on Selma and its claws scratched her shoulder, but she was already running away back to the Jeep.

“Wow!” Zip cried, seeing the laptop. “Thanks!”

“Start it at once!” She cried, falling sitting on the passenger seat. “How the hell did you stick these keys on it?”

“With gum.” Zip said while in a split second extracted a key, put it in the lock and started the engine. “Here we go!”

The manticore had been bunched up in the shattered tent, but hearing the engine roar, it freed itself and rushed back to the vehicle.

“Hold on tight, princess!” Zip shouted and hit the gas...towards the manticore.

Selma screamed and covered her face to see the monster coming to them...but then it suddenly disappeared and she felt the Jeep brutally bounce up and jerk about.

She took a moment to realize what was happening. She turned and saw the monster flat on the ground. “You've run over it...!”

“I'm done with those fuckers.” Zip growled, slapping the wheel.


	23. Unequal Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, that's Kurtis Trent's blue eye, a screenshot from Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness. Also totally unforgettable.

It was midnight in England. Winston, after checking each one of the Manor gates, closed the door and quietly went upstairs. “Miss Deli?” He called softly.

Radha appeared at the railing. She had grown up a good stretch since being in Surrey. Winston was sure it was thanks to proper feeding and the friendlier climate. It'd had taken more than a month, but now she was taller and with rounder forms, and little was left of that faded skinny girl who'd come all the way from the tropics. She was about fifteen years old - although obviously she didn’t know for sure - and it seemed she'd turn into a pretty teen.

Since Lara’s departure, Winston had looked after her with dedication, as when he'd been responsible for Lara. He’d taught her some music and literature, besides English, in which the girl had made remarkable progress - hopefully, since no one understood _hindi_ there, but she still had a strong native accent.

“Miss Deli,” the butler announced, “it's about bedtime.”

Radha nodded and stepped into the room immediately. Winston was surprised of such docility and obedience, after how difficult it had been to control the rebellious Lara. But that was another of the lessons Radha had learned in India...to be docile and obedient, to avoid trouble.

The Indian girl undid her braid – her adopted, more comfortable hairstyle and began to brush her black hair while looking out the window. Sometimes, that sky, so dark at night and usually overcast during day, frightened her. She was in a strange country and among strangers. She missed Lara, but she also realized she herself was a stranger too, and so was that kind old man, who was her tutor and teacher at the same time. But there was no turning back. There was no longer a place for her in India - she would have to find a place in England.

Radha turned off the light and went to bed. She laid for a while staring at the ceiling. After half an hour, she heard a sound downstairs. _Must be Winston_ , she thought. Then, she heard a shatter of breaking glass. She jumped.

Despite his old age, Winston wasn't shabby at all and though he may tinkle cups and trays in his hands, he'd never cast them on the floor. The old man used to proudly tell the girl the story of how he’d knocked down a burly mercenary with a single blow on the head using an old candelabrum - although Radha found it hard to believe such a thing.

The girl went towards the door and opened it. Below, everything was dark, but then she noticed a shadow moving upstairs...the sound of footsteps...and it wasn't Winston, judging by its size and agility.

She didn’t scream, but closed the door and ran across the room onto the balcony. When she was younger she'd played by climbing the walls and trees in her village and had come to jump from roof to roof, so it wasn't difficult for her to get into the courtyard by traversing down the drainpipe.

When reaching the yard, she heard what was coming down the door of her room. Someone turned on the light and then...

“Where the hell is she?” She heard a voice growling...a male's voice.

“On the balcony!” Another voice hissed.

Radha held in a scream and began to slip against the wall, towards the kitchen door, which was by the assault course in which Lara used to hone her skills. The young girl slipped through it at the time one of the two thugs, with a grunt, dropped into the yard by jumping from the balcony.

Who were these men? What did they want?

Radha went running into the kitchen, crossed it like a bolt, and suddenly screamed in pain and staggered. She'd just stepped on a broken glass, probably the same one to produce the sound which alerted her.

She limped to the corner of the hall and, biting her lower lip, touched her injured foot and pulled out the embedded glass. The kitchen light went on then, and Radha realized in horror her pursuers had only to follow the blood trail to find her.

The girl went upstairs again in panic, although her foot was profusely bleeding. She reached Winston’s bedroom door and opened it.

“Winston!” Radha yelled in anguish. “There are some men...!”

She received no reply. When switching on the light, she let out a cry of horror. The old man lay face down on the ground motionless beside the bed, still dressed in his butler uniform. Had they been able to kill him?

“Gotcha, little bitch!” Hissed a voice from behind, and suddenly Radha felt lifted into the air and held between two huge arms.

She started shrieking and kicking, but a huge hand covered her mouth.

“Quick.” Hissed the other. “Let's get the hell outta here.” It was a harmless-looking man who gave orders to the muscular one.

The hand covering her mouth was replaced with a handkerchief soaked in a liquid that smelled horribly wrong...Radha felt the world spinning around...and passed out.

 

* * *

 

“Roger.” Schäffer spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Excellent work, Hugh! I’ll report immediately to the Lady. Over and out.” He hung up and headed for the van parked next to the rocks. Sitting in one of them was Bathsheba, her face covered by a white veil. Around the area Schäffer’s men were scattered, with their respective vehicles, as she didn’t like to be stared at. She showed just her face to whom she considered and only when she wanted to.

“My Lady.” Schäffer bent his torso. “I just received Hugh’s report. Everything went off without a hitch. They already got the Indian girl.”

“Perfect.” She said calmly.

“Now I want to...introduce the man you demanded.”

“Bring him to me.”

Schäffer turned to the soldier’s group and made a sign to Sciarra, who came slowly. Bathsheba looked at him through the veil. Decidedly, he was a sly, nasty and heartless scoundrel. But what mattered was he'd worked for Monteleone. He'd be useful.

The Italian stopped a few steps away and looked intrigued at the veiled lady. He hadn't seen her the day she visited Monteleone.

“This is Lady Bathsheba.” Said Schäffer. “We serve and obey both her and Dr. Boaz. If you're still breathing, it’s because of her, for she demanded your release.”

Sciarra peered with suspicion the veiled face, and said: “I'd rather see the face of my new boss, if you please.”

“Insolent! The Lady only shows her face to whom she chooses...” But Schäffer hadn't finished when, with an elegant gesture, Bathsheba lifted the veil and showed her smiling face to Sciarra, who gasped in astonishment and went two steps back, eyes wide. “Would you devote to me your life and will, Giacomo Sciarra?” She whispered.

He swallowed hard before answering. “Yes, L-Lady.”

She dropped the veil again. The interview was over. Schäffer grabbed Sciarra’s arm and took him to the mercenaries’ group, busy cleaning and assembling their weapons, although all of them had glanced as she had lifted her veil.

“I know what you’re thinking.” The German smiled, looking at Sciarra with sarcasm. “You think you've never seen such a beautiful woman. Well, listen carefully: you’ll never see another like her in this world...or the next. She owns our lives from the moment we start to serve her. But don’t dare to think of her as a common woman...for she’s not. The loveliest woman on the Earth is dust at her side. Nor should you ever think of her as fuckmeat. For I know from your former boss, you're pretty annoying. Here your whims won’t be satisfied...here we only need your services. Now you're in the Cabal, and if you dare to disappoint the Lady, or myself, you’ll be punished.”

The Italian nodded, too stunned to answer.

 

* * *

 

Father Dunstan rang the bell outside the gate again and again, but found no answer. “Winston is becoming increasingly deaf.” He snorted impatiently.

He used to go every day to give religion lessons to the little Indian girl. He was convinced her pagan soul had to find her way to Christ’s light...it was unthinkable that a child who was supposed to be raised in England continued burning incense before the statue of a goddess with an excess of arms!

Not that he'd been successful...since when he spoke about the Gospel, she was staring at him in amazement, and at the mention of Mary's conception through the Holy Spirit, she'd laughed. That had required Winston's intervention, who'd said very politely to him: “Patrick, you should wait a little...the girl has her own religion...perhaps this is not the best way to...”

But the priest was stubborn, he'd insisted to be back every day, despite he'd the impression that Radha struggled to not burst out laughing every time he talked about the Mother of God’s virginity.

“Good Lord!” He sighed. “Is anybody here? Is that child also deaf?” He rounded the house and went into the crypt. Wishing no one to pass nearby, he put the Bible under his arm, adjusted his hat, rolled up his robe and began to climb the ivy. Halfway down, he lost his footing and had to rely on Von Croy’s tombstone, who rested there. “Forgive me, Professor.” The priest whispered to the buried archaeologist. He pushed, threw one leg over the wall and landed on the other side. Panting from the effort - he was no longer a young man - he went into the Manor.

The door was open. He paused, suspicious, and then he saw the trail of blood coming out and crossing the yard. Crossing himself, he quickly ran into the house. “Winston! _Ra-rra!”_ He still couldn’t manage to pronounce the girl’s name properly. “Are you okay?”

The only answer was silence. Distraught, he ran upstairs. At that time, he heard a weak, small voice. “Patrick?”

He turned. Winston was there, sitting on the floor, her hair dishevelled and his uniform unkempt.

“Blessed be the Lord, Winston! What happened to you?” The priest bent down and helped the old man get up, accompanied him to a chair and gave him a glass of water.

Winston drank the water and, after releasing a sigh, he began to sob: “The girl...alas, the girl...the little one...”

“Wait, what? Where's she?”

“They've taken her...oh...what will my Lara say? Oh...what will she say about this!” He said no more. He buried his face in his wrinkled hands and wept, heartbroken.

 

* * *

 

Bathsheba arose and approached calmly to the van. Watching her move, Schäffer went immediately next to her: “My Lady...you shouldn’t...he could react violently...”

She smiled: “It was me who captured him.”

He nodded, but went ahead and opened the back door. With one hand, he helped her to come up and then he went after her, closing the door. Then he placed himself between her and the prisoner. Although everyone knew she was perfectly capable of self-protection, Schäffer was determined to serve her.

In the back of the van, Kurtis was sitting - he'd awakened. The brutal blow on his head had left a crust of blood on face and neck. He was supposed to be in shock, but Schäffer, not known for his tenderness, had ordered his arms to be tied...with barbed wire. To his surprise they were bleeding, which meant he'd tried to escape, despite those spikes tearing the flesh.

_Well, well_ , Schäffer thought, _seems the guy's an idiot, or really tough_.

Bathsheba sat down and lifted her veil. Kurtis looked at her without uttering a word, strangely calm and inexpressive.

“I hope this make you think.” She whispered then. “If you insist on fighting us, you’ll only increase your suffering.”

Kurtis didn’t answer. It was impossible to decipher what was going through his mind - and it was off limits even to Bathsheba herself, which fascinated and annoyed her at the same time. She quietly observed her prisoner, not knowing why he was so quiet. He should've panicked...or maybe he'd not yet realized what was awaiting him. “Do you know why we’re looking for you?” She continued.

Kurtis shrugged. “You tell me and spare me the saliva.”

Then Schäffer stepped forward and brutally punched him in the face. Kurtis bent over, letting out a gasp, but straightened up immediately.

“Next time you talk to her like that, I'll break your legs.” Said the bully.

Kurtis set a defiant glance to the rough German and spat to one side with contempt. His lower lip was bleeding profusely.

Bathsheba looked at the mercenaries’ leader and said: “Leave us alone, Schäffer. I'll call you when needed.”

“But Lady...”

“Do it.”

He bowed respectfully and left, closing the van door.

Kurtis had leaned against the wall. A trickle of blood ran down from his lip, chin and throat, soaking his T-shirt. Along with the gap in the head and his torn arms, he was a sad picture, but he was still serene as a calm sea.

Bathsheba stared at the running blood. She got up, walked up to him and bent to his eye level. He held her gaze.

The beautiful woman hesitated. Then she stretched her hand and brushed his lips with her fingertips. She turned away and sat back; watching with fascination the blood staining her fingers. Suddenly she looked up, smiled...and put her bloody fingers to her mouth, slowly licking the red liquid with the sharp tip of her tongue.

Kurtis didn’t move. Nothing was said - but he kept holding her gaze. He was quite daring, since few men could endure looking at her for so long - and certainly none had had the privilege of meeting her in private.

“Red blood.” She whispered. “Salty blood. Strange. Your blood shouldn’t be like that. You’re not like any other mortal.”

“ _What_ the hell are you?” He said then.

Bathsheba smiled, baring her white teeth. “Does it really matter? I just want you to know why you're here. Two years ago you killed a divine being...and now you’ve reached the day of revenge.”

Suddenly someone knocked at the door. The woman was quick to drop the veil over her face. But it was Schäffer. “Lady...Dr. Boaz wants to talk to you...on the phone...”

Of course, that was well understood by Kurtis. So Dr. Boaz...when she withdrew to take the call, Schäffer stood looking at him for a moment. Truth be told, he felt a bit sorry for him. It was pretty awful what was awaiting that wretch, but no doubt he deserved it.

“By the way, sorry for the punch.” Schäffer scoffed, turning away.

“If I were you, I'd worry about the barbed wire.” Kurtis replied calmly.

“Why?” Laughed the other. “Because it hurts?”

“No. Cuz I've released myself.”

Schäffer turned, stunned...to see Kurtis jump from his seat and elbow him in the temple. He fell against the van door, which burst open, and fell to the ground.

Kurtis wasted no time. He jumped down and ran towards the rocks. Behind him, he heard Bathsheba shouting: “Stop him!”

There was a commotion at the place. Suddenly, everyone began to quickly load their weapons. Schäffer arose from the ground, still stunned by the blow, to meet Bathsheba’s indignant face.

“Forgive me, my Lady, I didn’t expect he'd be able to...”

“Bring him back.” She said, quietly. “This is a desert. He can’t get very far. _And I want him alive_.”

Kurtis had disappeared among the rocks, but after there were still only dust and stones. It was true - he'd nowhere to go in that great vastness.

“Move out!” Shouted Schäffer. “Let’s go for him!”

The men gathered around him, others brought their vehicles.

“My pleasure!” Hissed Sciarra, loading his gun.

 

* * *

 

Kurtis felt an excruciating pain running from shoulder to hand, mixed with a hot and sticky sensation of blood sliding down his arms and dripping from his fingertips. There were areas where his flesh had been cut to the bone. And on the left arm, a strip of skin was literally hanging like raw meat. Was it worth that terrible struggle to break free?

Crouched behind a rock, he waited patiently, feeling his heart beating in his chest like a drum. He could hear the screams and the manoeuvres of his pursuers, the engines of their vehicles. He _had_ to move, only to divert his mind from the constant urge to scream in pain.

He got up and ran. There was no point in staying here, they would arrive soon - nor he wanted to hide. The blood trail would betray him anyway.

He heard shouts behind him, and suddenly, shots rained around, but those lads had nothing to teach him. Kurtis already knew how the Agency worked - they were very able to scare someone into believing he'd be shot down, when in fact they wanted him alive. He knew that trick only all too well.

Unfortunately, Sciarra didn't. Excited about the idea of hunting down a fugitive, he shot to kill - and he was a very good shot indeed.

At the time Kurtis stopped next to a mound to catch his breath, the Italian, crouching, aimed and fired. The bullet plunged deeply into Kurtis’ knee.

“ _Touché!”_ Sciarra said triumphantly when he saw him stumble and fall. When reloading the weapon, a colleague stopped him: “Are you nuts? We must _not_ kill him!”

Kurtis grabbed his knee, panting, and after examining the wound, muttered softly: “It's over. Enough.”

They approached. They could see him in the distance, like a tiny figure crouched beside the mound. “C'mon.” Schäffer urged by the walkie-talkie, jumping from the truck. “And be careful. He’s dangerous.”

He wasn’t wrong. Suddenly and without explanation, there were shouts and immediately, he witnessed a scene that would remain in his memory for a long time.

One by one, his men were being disarmed. The pistols and machine guns were torn from their hands as if a strong arm threw them away and sent them flying out to land on the ground very far away. The mercenaries, most of them young, retreated in panic.

“Dammit!” Schäffer yelled, running towards them. “Don’t fear his tricks! Seize him...!”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Above his head a mercenary passed by flying, screaming terrified, waving arms and legs. He landed on the windscreen of the van, which shattered. Then he saw another, and another, flying by the air like projectiles.

How the hell could he do that? He was still there, hidden behind the rock!

“Hey, boss!” Shouted Sciarra. “Better if we kill him.”

Schäffer snorted and took two steps. Suddenly, he felt a cool breeze at his back...and pivoted on his heels, terrified. The van lifted in the air, and after two roll-overs, landed a few feet below, crushing a group of mercs.

The rest of them didn't think twice - they turned and ran away.

Schäffer cursed those cowards. But then, how to blame then? That bastard was wiping out his men!

“Sciarra!” He shouted, picking up a shotgun. “Come with me!”

The Italian complied, although he kept looking in horror at the van now on fire, consuming the remains of those crushed underneath.

They arrived to the rock...

“Enough, Kurtis Trent!” The German shouted then. “You won’t scare me with your magic tricks! Been there, seen that! Maybe you don’t remember me. I was an apprentice when the boss Gunderson lost it in chasing both you and that slut Lara Croft in Romania, Egypt, and Germany, until she killed him in Greece. But I remember all that! Now I'm the leader and you don’t scare me!”

“Lara Croft is _not_ a slut.” Kurtis' voice answered, calmly, as he arose and appeared before them. “And you're _not_ a leader.”

Sciarra watched in disbelief the carnage that madman had made to himself in order to escape, and then noticed he was limping as well.

“You failed in your attempt.” The leader said then. “Accept your defeat and face the consequences like a man should do.”

“I’ve been defeated many times.” Kurtis said. “And I will be many more. You and yours, however, will be defeated once...at your death.”

“Let's end this!” Sciarra snorted in exasperation. “This chit-chat makes me feel sick!” He went towards Kurtis and with a rude gesture, grabbed his arm and pulled, viciously digging his fingers in his torn flesh. However, as soon as he touched him felt like an invisible slap go across his face and fell backwards. He bumped into Schäffer so both ended up on the ground.

Kurtis started running again but he had no more strength. He'd lost too much blood and the use of his psychic skills had left him exhausted. But then he heard an engine roar, and to his astonishment, Selma's Jeep seemed to come out of nowhere – and driven by Zip.

“Kurtis!” The Turkish girl yelled, holding out her hand. “Let’s go!” With an impulse, she took him to the Jeep at the same time the shrapnel slammed the car’s doors.

“ _Fuck!”_ Zip cried, covering his head with his hands.

“Start!” Selma ordered.

The boy stepped on the accelerator and raised a cloud of dust that cut off the persecution. The Jeep was gone in seconds.

“Well.” Sciarra coughed. “Seems that nice lady will get mad at us.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my God, Kurtis!” Selma moaned. “Your arms!”

The man dropped into the back of the Jeep and sighed in exhaustion. “How did you find me?”

“Just by chance.” Zip answered nervously, staring at the road. “We were nearby and then we saw a van and lots of guys flying through the air. I figured that was your doing...holy shit, man! If only I could do that kind of hocus pocus!”

Selma was frantically searching in her hand luggage. “Isn't there a first aid kit or something? He’s bleeding a lot!”

“Luggage is up to you, princess. I just had my laptop.”

Kurtis leaned against the trunk wall and closed his eyes. He hardly noticed the girl bandaging his arms with dedication and making a tourniquet to his leg. When finished, Selma was soaked with blood and twice as hysterical as before starting. “Hope this helps...I'm so sorry! Those fucking animals!”

“Zip.” Then Kurtis murmured, opening his eyes. “I’ll lead you to a place. But whenever we get there, you need to go away immediately and leave me there.”

“Where at?” Asked the boy.

“Where both Lara and my mother are. They’ll escape with you.”

Selma and Zip looked to each other, concerned, but neither dared to reply.


	24. A Masterful Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image is a detail of Lara Croft in Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness, taken from the Making Of video. Damn, she's gorgeous.

Radha huddled in a corner, trembling. Still, she struggled to stay calm and avoid giving cues to her captors that she was terrified. Suddenly, the terrible images of the Foreign Legion attacking Kusuma Bharadji came to her mind. But this time was different - she was alone.

She had awakened in a bright white room, with a bed in one corner and a table and a chair in the other – and that was all. The door was made of metal and well bolted. Her kidnappers had left her there after having travelled miles completely sedated.

She couldn't hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, for all sound was insulated by the door. When she saw the vast bulk metal opening, Radha gasped and feared the worst.

But it was just a woman - and the man who'd kidnapped her. He exchanged a few words with her in a rough language which she didn’t understand, and then he withdrew, closing the door. Then the woman sat quietly in the chair and looked at her.

Radha peered at the woman from her corner - she was young, no doubt about it. Dressed in a white coat over a sweater and a skirt, stockings and heels, she was quite attractive and it could even be said she'd a kind face. Her eyes were blue and her blond hair was the lightest she'd ever seen, and very short, like a man’s.

“Do you speak English, kid?” The woman said suddenly.

Radha didn’t answer.

“I’ll speak in English since I don’t know your mother language. My name's Giselle and I’m in charge of these facilities. Maybe you think your abduction has been cruel and unfair, but you’ll find some answers as the days go by. Or maybe you won’t find them. It all depends on your behaviour.”

The girl didn’t understand quite well all what she was saying, but at least she managed to get the idea. Comprehensive, Giselle explained it in a clear and basic English, and spoke to her slowly and with proper pace to be understood.

“What have you done to the butler?” Suddenly the girl asked, weakly.

“We haven’t hurt him. He was just sedated, like you, and right now he should be OK. We don’t seek unnecessary victims. Every life we take, we do it in a justified way.”

Of course, she omitted to say that if Winston was still alive it was because it concerned her plans. The old man would warn Lara Croft about the girl's abduction - and that was just what Giselle was looking for.

“I want to leave.” Radha said, firmly and simply.

“That depends on how willing your friends will be in cooperating with us. From now on, the decision is in their hands.”

“Lara will come for me!”

“If she does, she'll have problems. I’m the owner of this place. No one leaves and no one enters without my permission. And of course she doesn’t have permission to enter, so if she does, she won’t have permission to...leave.”

The way she said it made Radha shudder. The girl narrowed her eyes and murmured: “You’re an evil woman.”

Giselle smiled, and in doing so her face became dramatically beautified. “I’m neither good nor evil, child. I do what I must. I can’t afford else. I've more important issues to worry about.” She arose from her chair and made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “This will be your place. You won’t leave while you're here, but if you open the window, you'll have a beautiful ocean view.”

“Where are we?”

The woman smiled again. “C'mon, little one, if you don’t even know how to recognize your country on a map...how can I explain where you are?”

“You can tell me anyway.”

Giselle slowly shook her head, then she turned to leave the room. “Oh, by the way.” She said before leaving. “We don’t want to hurt you. But if your friends refuse to cooperate with us, we’ll have no choice but to assert a compelling reason to force them to do so. For the damage you'll receive, you’ll also know how much they care about you.”

The door closed with a metallic crash, and all was silent.

Radha went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Through the bars, she saw a huge cliff, and down below the waves crashing against the rocks, and the vast blue sea. A beautiful sun was shining and she could hear the screeching of the gulls.

That, and the sound of the sea, would be the only sounds to accompany Radha from that time.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mortals say? _If you want something done right, do it yourself_. I must say that’s the only smart thing I’ve ever heard from you.”

Schäffer, embarrassed, didn't dare look up. His Lady had spoken calmly and hadn’t got angry at any time as predicted by Sciarra.

Sitting in the back of the van, she spun in her hand the roll of twisted wire which had tied Kurtis. Her fingers went through the spikes without getting pricked, and, truth be told, the German couldn't understand how that beauty could play with such a thing without feeling disgust, since it was smeared with that man’s blood, and had even bits of his skin attached.

“We'll get him.” He said hastily. “He was bleeding and will be weakened by now. And the ones with him are just an archaeologist and a hacker. It’s a long way to Izmit, so...”

“What’s the report?” Bathsheba asked then, looking at Sciarra.

“A destroyed truck and twenty men killed.” The Italian laconically replied, looking fascinated at that veiled face.

She nodded slowly. “We won’t try to seize him again. That's what he wants - to run away until killing all of you one by one.” She pulled the wire to one side. “We’ll strike him where it really hurts.”

Schäffer nodded. _The mother and the British explorer._

“Dismissed.” She ordered. “Move out. You must get to them before he does.”

 

* * *

 

Marie was sweeping the porch when she noticed a figure far away - a black man wearing a cap and carrying an empty water bottle.

“Stop!” She shouted, raising her hand to her belt, where she had a holstered gun. “Who are you?”

“Are you Mrs. Cornel?” Stammered the man.

“What do you want from Marie Cornel?”

“Thank God!” Sighed the boy looking up to heaven, and went on decidedly towards her.

Marie took the gun out. “Don't dare to take a step further...!”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” He cried, raising his hands. “I come on behalf of your son! The one called Kurt…is!”

“I haven’t another son.” Grumbled the old lady, lowering the gun. “You could've started out with that! Who the hell are you?”

The door opened then and Lara appeared, her arm bandaged, and rested against the doorframe. “Zip!” She exclaimed.

“Hey, babe!” Ignoring Marie, Zip went toward her and patted her healthy arm enthusiastically. “Glad to see you're OK!”

“You can trust him.” Lara said to Marie then. “He’s our computer technician.”

Marie came in and poured water for him, as Zip hastily said: “Geez, been walking for an hour! The Jeep’s outta gas, Kurt ain’t lookin’ too good and Selma wanted to stay with him...”

“What happened to him?” Marie jumped, startled.

“Shot in the leg - but he's a tough guy, he'll make it.”

“Where are they now?”

“An hour from here, going south.”

Marie nodded. “I've a truck in the backyard, I’ll prepare it.” And she left the kitchen.

Lara waited until she closed the door and then turned to Zip. “Talk to me openly. What happened?”

“Whole thing looks ugly, girl.” Zip sighed, and told her about Tenebra, how Kurtis had found them, how he'd disappeared and how he was finally rescued by them from the Cabal’s hands.

“Well, well.” Lara murmured. “Seems you’re quite the hero after all.”

“Actually,” Zip blushed, “wasn’t up to me alone, you know...Selma also...”

Suddenly, a scream filled the air. Lara jumped from her chair and walked to the window. What she saw made her freeze.

Outside, everywhere was crowded with armed men. The vehicles were parked pretty far away, so she'd not heard them. The one who appeared to be the leader brutally held Marie by her arms while dragging her away from her truck, and beside him Lara recognized Sciarra.

“Shit shit shit shit!” Zip gasped.

Lara was thinking at full speed. “Zip.” She commanded. “Beyond this hall, you'll see a room - that's where I sleep. Under the bed there's a trap door hidden by a rug. Open it and hide in it.”

“Whaddya mean?” The boy was shocked. “Ain’t hidin’ like no coward...!”

The explorer pivoted abruptly and shook him by the shoulder with her healthy arm. “Listen to me, dammit! _Kurtis is going to need you to know what happened here_. Got it? Now hide and don't come out, no matter what you hear!”

Someone started banging on the door. Zip nodded, pale and sweaty, and went into the hallway.

The door came down and Sciarra appeared. When seeing Lara, he approached her and tried to grab her, but she pulled him away. “Don’t _even_ touch me, runt.” She hissed, and passing in front of him, went calmly to the outside, looking down on the squad.

Schäffer let Marie go, who came towards Lara, and then he said: “Well, well. I see you’re both healthy, though you, Miss Croft, could be better, right?”

“What do you want?” Lara said quietly.

“Well...to bring a reckoning to Kurtis Trent. We already had him when he dared to challenge us. We’re not ones to take everything, so we’ll hit him back twice as hard as he hit us - and you, ladies, you’ll help us with that.” He snapped his fingers and both women were pushed into a van and forced to climb. Lara, still recovering from her wound, couldn't think of resisting. Meanwhile, Marie had fallen into a painful silence.

Within minutes, the mercs ransacked the whole house. Lara hoped they wouldn’t find Zip - they didn't. After a while, they went out carrying out the stuff they had found useful.

“Did you find it?” Schäffer asked then.

“Nothing, sir.” Replied one of the mercs. “And you've already registered the woman.”

The German turned, his face angry, and shouted: “Bring her here!”

They grabbed Marie and made her come down from the truck. In a last moment, the old woman, desperate, held out a hand to Lara, but she could only touch her fingers before being pushed forward. The British explorer remained in the truck, held by Sciarra, who enjoyed digging his fingers in her bandaged arm.

Marie was placed in front of Schäffer, who asked: “Where is it? Where’s the Periapt Shard you have in your custody?”

The Navajo woman remained silent.

“Lady Bathsheba claims that Shard! Where did you hide it, you old hag?”

Silence.

The German turned and shouted: “Bring her gun!”

He was obeyed instantly. The boss confirmed the gun was loaded and then, without further ado, put the barrel against Marie’s forehead.

Lara screamed in rage and tried to move, but Sciarra grabbed her tightly.

“I’ll repeat it just once more.” The German spat again. “If you keep quiet again like the bitch you are, I'll blow your brains out. Where's the Shard?”

“Where is it, where is it!” Marie then exploded, furious. “Where’s the Shard! Where’s Konstantin! Where’s Kurtis! Where’s this, that, the other thing! You’ve spent your whole life wondering the same thing, and you’ve not made any progress! Killer snakes! You’ve neither law nor country! You serve demons just because you get paid! Scum! Want to know where’s what you seek? I’ll tell you: in a place you’ll never find! For you’re so blind that even if it was right in front of your nose you wouldn’t see it. Now shoot me if you want - I don’t care. I'm old and tired. You’ve ruined my whole life, but you won’t ruin it a day longer.”

Marie's speech was followed by a heavy silence. For a moment, the German’s finger trembled on the trigger. Then he smiled, and slowly lowered the gun. “Get her to the truck.” He commanded, and turned around. “We’re going to the coast!”

Marie was placed again next to Lara, still strongly held by Sciarra, not by her bandaged arm anymore, but by the other. He liked to touch her - his fingers were groping her soft skin.

But Lara wouldn’t listen to the Italian’s crude remarks. She exchanged glances with Marie, who couldn't seem to believe she was still alive. The old woman smiled triumphantly.

They tore out and left behind a desolate house. After a while, Lara felt a warm and sticky wetness in the chest - the gunshot wound was open and bleeding again.

 

* * *

 

“Look, Kurtis! Here comes a van!”

He looked up and saw, in fact, a trail on the horizon. But soon he noticed it was not his mother's van - neither the mercenaries’ one.

The vehicle stopped in front of them. To his astonishment, the novice Pancratios was driving it, accompanied by a few armed monks.

“Thanks to the Blessed One we've found you!” He shouted. “Since many days ago this has been a living hell!”

“What happened?”

The novice cast his eyes on the now useless Jeep and fixed again his eyes on Selma. “Is that a Muslim?” He asked.

“She’s _Turkish_ , and you better call her by her name.” Kurtis said, irritated. “I’m not dealing with your shit right now. Why are you here?”

Pancratios clenched his jaw. “Then you don’t know yet...we’re bearers of bad news - but I see you're hurt.” He turned off the engine and made some signs to the other monks, who came down and started loading into the van everything that was in the Jeep.

Selma helped Kurtis to stand on his feet, not daring to look up. As a cultured and educated woman, she was aware of the problem posed by her presence. The Greek people had suffered greatly under the Turkish yoke, and the deep wounds of the Greek War of Independence remained unhealed. The horrible massacres and raping committed by the Turks continued to weigh on the minds of many Greeks, and in that place, at that very moment, Selma wasn't only a Turkish among Greeks, but also a woman between monks and a Muslim among Christians - so she kept her eyes lowered.

“We came because since several days ago, our _hegumenos_ is dying from horrible attacks.” Said Pancratios. “The demon that dwells in him is, in the end, killing him. We know you couldn’t do anything, so we thought to talk to the sorceress who bewitched him, to make her lift the curse on him.”

“What makes you think she will be so willing?” Kurtis said with a grimace.

“Well...everything is possible with faith. But certainly now, that's the least of our problems. We arrived to where your mother lives... but I fear a disgrace.”

Selma, who still held Kurtis, noticed how he suddenly stiffened. She forgot her silence and said: “God! What happened?”

Pancratios glared at her, as he hadn't expected that woman could speak Greek, but added: “The house has been looted and vandalized. We found hidden, a man with black skin...”

“It’s Zip!”

“He’s fine - he's in a second vehicle which is about to come. But he told us your mother and Miss Croft had disappeared, abducted by the Cabal’s men.”

Kurtis released abruptly from Selma's arm, closed his eyes tightly, and after putting his hand on his forehead, turned and walked four steps to nowhere in particular. At the fifth step, his injured leg gave out and he collapsed on his knees, in the dust. His head was still reeling from the brutal blow against the rock, and the wound was pounding him like a drum. He bent in half.

He noticed Selma kneeling at his side. “Kurtis.” He heard her saying, but her voice sounded very far away. ”Kurtis. Calm down. They've seized them, but they’re alive. They haven’t  hurt them.”

_You idiot_ , seemed to say another voice, which sounded louder in his ears than the Turkish woman’s sweet voice, _you wanted to keep them away from danger and instead you’ve served them to the enemy on a silver platter! The only important people_ _you have in this world, and you’ve thrown them to the wolves! Bravo, Trent! You’ve outdone yourself!_

“Kurtis, you hear me?” Selma became increasingly worried.

“I'm fine.” He gasped, looking up.

“No, you're not.” Turning to the monks, she said. ”Is there a doctor among you?”

_What to do now, huh? How to get them back? How to set them free? You know. Give them what they want. Pay the price, and perhaps you may save them - or maybe not._

“Brother Domenikos is a nurse.” Said Pancratios. “He’ll assist you. But we need to leave.”

Then the second truck arrived. Through the haze that clouded his eyes, Kurtis saw Zip jumping from the truck, warmly hugging Selma while speaking hurriedly, gesticulating towards the monks, from whose speech Kurtis only  got: “...have said they’re taking them to the coast! Maybe if we follow them...!”

“Absolutely not!” Pancratios said, speaking in English to be understood. “We have only very few weapons! We can’t face such...!”

He stopped when seeing Kurtis rising, determined, limping to the truck and opening the driver’s door firmly.

“Kurtis!” Selma yelled, alarmed. “What are you doing!”

“I’m going to the coast, of course.” He replied. “Don’t try to follow me.” And without more, he hit the accelerator and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Among the group of people standing near the second truck, Selma remained shocked and Zip scratched his head, confused, while the monks looked at each other in disbelief.

“By Great Martyr Barbara’s hair!” Pancratios gasped. “That man's insane!”


	25. The Exchange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Leksa Art. Thank you Lexa! :D

Giselle dropped on the chair beside the stretcher. She reached out and stroked the dead girl’s hair - she did that for almost an hour. After a while, she was interrupted by the warden's arrival. “Doctor...” He murmured politely. “We should move her to the morgue...”

She looked at him., her green eyes glassy. “Tell me, Ralph, why this child died?”

The warden smiled, understanding. Of course she knew, she'd been present at the time of her death, but he had to say because she requested it. “A brain stroke, Doctor. Fulminating. Couldn’t do anything.”

Giselle nodded quietly. “A stroke caused by an excess of serum. I shouldn’t have given her that much. But her heart was failing and the serum could've helped her.” She bowed her head and grabbed her hands in a tormented gesture.

Seeing her, Ralph thought, she seemed an ordinary physician suffering for not being able to save the life of such a young and beautiful patient.

Reality, however, was very different.

“Why do my patients die? Why, _why?”_ Giselle complained aloud. “Each one is valuable! They are so hard to achieve, to care for! Why do they die, if I'm improving the art more and more, if every time the serum, the treatment, the experiments are better and safer?”

Ralph spread a blanket over the girl's tiny body, a fair-skinned blonde creature looking like a doll. “If you allow me the insolence, doctor, I fear the system still has flaws.”

Giselle sighed in dismay. _If only my stubborn daughter were here and not stumbling around in Turkey! I'm not making progress, dammit!_

“Excuse me, Doctor.” Ralph said gently. “I’ll take the girl.” And pushing the stretcher, he went out.

Giselle remained seated for a moment, motionless, and then she got up and left the room. She passed through the halls like a lost soul. Through the blast doors, the prisoners' cries and groans were heard. She knew about their agony. But she was suffering too!

“I'll go out for a while, Karl.” She said to the main entrance’s warden. He was quick to press the release button and the big doors were opened, leaving Giselle to go outside.

Since Karel had disappeared, the surviving members of the Cabal had decided to seek a new stronghold for their research. Moscow was only an interim stage, and no other European capital was safe anymore - the police would be always aware. No, they had to find a safer place.

And they had found a place in that island, that lonely rocky outcrop off the coast of Syria, near Cyprus in the Mediterranean Sea. All authorities believed it was uninhabited and so it should remain. In record time, workers had built a fortress that was both laboratory and prison. All around, there was nothing but rocky coast and sea. Patients arrived kidnapped by private vessels. Giselle could be satisfied - no one would disturb them there, and she could go on quietly with her ambitious personal project.

What were exactly Giselle’s experiments? Nobody knew for sure. It was rumoured she was endeavouring to create new specimens of the _Nephili_ race, but so far the results hadn't been better than the horrible Proto of her sister Kristina, therefore, horrified, she'd hastened to destroy them before instilling life to them. Others, however, said she was developing another embryo with which to fertilize herself. But no theory fit those treatments and experiments endured by the hostages. She commanded and she was obeyed - that was all.

Giselle walked to the beach and dropped herself there, removed her shoes and socks and let the foam of the sea kiss her white feet. She closed her eyes and laid on the sand, abandoning herself to the fullest.

_Joachim, Joachim, why did we fail? We'd the world at our disposal. If you'd accepted me as a partner, a mother for your offspring, you’d now behold the beauty of your daughter and be convinced that only me, among all your servants, really understood your message. How I wish you were here, you who were immortal, who'd lived since the dawn of humanity, who were going to live forever._

The young scientist opened her eyes, and to her surprise and embarrassment, she found them full of tears. She sat up to wipe them away. She felt so alone! So misunderstood!

From the corner of her eye she saw where the cliff raised at her left side and, carved in the rock, the prisons. At the top of the rock, she distinguished Ralph and another warden devoted to the task of getting rid of the corpses. They piled them on the edge of the cliff, wrapped in sheets, and they gradually made them fall one after another into the sea, pushing. _Plop. Plop. Plop_. One after another, sinking in eddies formed under the cliff, inhabited by sharks, which within minutes would reduce those spoils to nothing.

Giselle arose at last, feeling somewhat relieved. But when turning, she saw something on top of the fort that made her stop. A dark face peered through the bars.

Radha Deli, imprisoned in that room, was spying on her jailers from above. Giselle looked back at her intently, but the Indian girl was gone, running back the curtain.

Had she seen her mourning?

 

* * *

 

Across many miles, Marie grabbed Lara's hand.

They were going towards the coast, but they wouldn't leave the desert – it would be too risky to enter inhabited areas, the authorities could notice. And with it the two women’s hopes faded.

After what seemed an eternity, the vehicles stopped and both were forced to descend among insults and shoves. Sciarra dragged Lara away by the arm and Marie saw her no more. The Navajo woman was taken to a van where there was someone waiting; a figure dressed in white, covered with a black cloak, the face veiled. Marie didn't need more to know that this must surely be the famous Bathsheba.

“Leave us alone.” A melodious voice said to the mercenary who'd delivered her.

The old woman stood a moment peering into the thick veil, but couldn’t see her interlocutor’s face. After a few moments, irritated, she dared to say: “Well? Is this veil a game to make you more interesting?”

Marie could've sworn she was smiling under the fabric. Then the mysterious figure replied: “We're women, Marie Cornel. I think you’ll understand me when I say I hate the way in which men look at us, like cattle...like a wild horse looks at a young mare. Chance gave me a peculiar face which makes me feel stripped and stared wherever I go...so this veil helps me get by. Although I must admit I still attract some attention. Have I satisfied your question?” Then she lifted the veil for a moment and said: “You think my fears are justified?”

Marie looked at her, stunned, and said: “Indeed, you’re very beautiful. Too bad such a perfect face hides such wickedness.”

Bathsheba seemed confused for a moment, then she laughed, and her laughter was like a singing crystal fountain. “You really think I'm evil?” She dropped the veil. “I don’t want to hurt you - neither you, nor the British explorer, and I didn’t even want to hurt your son. It won’t be me who will give him what he deserves. I'm just the messenger...the dealer - not the executioner.”

“ _What_ are you?”

“You ask the same thing he asked me! But I can answer you. You've no powers to threaten me. I’m the Ineffable, who came when all of you believed you'd never see one of my kind again. I’m your ancient enemy, and your son has been so blind to not recognize me.”

Marie was speechless with amazement, and then she tracked down in her mind the face she'd glimpsed beneath the veil just before. “It's impossible.”

“It’s true, Marie.”

“You attacked me in my _rancho_ in Mexico! You appeared under your true form!”

“There are no true or false forms. All of them are real. It’s true it was me, but it wasn't my intention to hurt you, just to warn you - and you shot me. See? Now I could return you the harm you did to me, but I'll be _gentle_ with you.”

The woman gasped, stunned. _A female Nephilim! How is it possible?_

“Joachim Karel, the last of the _Nephili_ , died two years ago. He had no offspring. The High Breed died with him.”

“You’re wrong, Marie. He had one descendant: it’s me, I’m his daughter. How and when I was born is not of your concern. And now you begin to understand, there in your heart, what the goal is that I pursue, that my people are pursuing.”

Marie began to shake her head in horror.

“For we’ll spare Lara Croft’s life,” continued Bathsheba, “who killed the Black Alchemist, our wise and greatest benefactor, after she found the clue to murder my father. We’ll spare Selma Al-Jazeera’s life, who for years plundered Eden’s necropolis and dared to use the Sacred Scepter against our servants. We’ll spare your life, who for years resisted the Cabal and joined our enemies. We’ll spare the life of all your friends and colleagues - but we _won’t_ spare Kurtis Trent’s life, who committed a greater crime than all this together: to kill the last pure Nephilim, a creature far superior to him using the glass of deception...glass that you and two others keep with zeal.”

The Navajo woman had turned a deathly pallor. She seemed about to faint, yet with a calm voice she murmured: “Guess now you want those crystals. You stole the Periapt and now you want the Shards.”

“If you deliver them to me, I'll fulfil what I just said. If you don’t, we might not forgive so many lives. Schäffer confessed to me that, in a fit of rage, he almost killed you. It’s a very serious transgression and he’ll be punished, since he was commanded to not hurt you. He reported me the speech with which you threatened him. You’re a very brave woman, Marie, and be sure I apply to myself this discourse. Unfortunately, it’s still the same. I need the Shards. I want them - and there's no time for more speeches."

There was a heavy silence, and then Marie said: “Justice will be served. When this is over, when you run out of people to threaten with death, justice will be served. There won’t be men, or spirits, who will make justice with you, both you and yours - it will be time.”

“I’m eternal and immortal. Time means nothing to me.”

“That said your father, and all of your race’s beings, and they now lie in the dust. You’re as immortal as they were. The same crystal can tear your life with a single stab! So that’s why you want the Shards! To end up with the last chance of your death!”

With a precise wave, Bathsheba tore the veil. The face that appeared behind the fabric was, for the first time, altered, and her cheeks flushed. “Only if the glass is wielded by a Lux Veritatis, it can kill a Nephilim! And the last Lux Veritatis is going to be sacrificed in atonement of the Blessed bloodshed! There’s no comfort to you, Marie Cornel! Surrender at once to your fate!”

“My Lady...” Muttered a voice behind her.

“ _What!”_ She exploded, turning furious towards the mercenary that had spoken, who felt alarmed at her wrath.

“W-we just gli-glimpsed a tr-truck on the horizon” The minion stammered. “We believe it’s him...”

Bathsheba took a deep breath - then she turned to Marie and grinned: “Woman, behold your son.”

 

* * *

 

Sciarra couldn’t believe his luck. They had left him alone with the British woman, no one else caring about them. Apparently, Croft wasn't the valuable hostage there...and that lent him some spare time with her.

The jostling led her to a secluded area by the rocks, making sure no one would notice them. Lara simply got carried away – but when they were alone, Sciarra met her mocking eyes and her sarcastic grin. He decided he'd wipe that smile off her face.

“You gonna abuse me while I’m hurt, boy?” She asked sarcastically.

In answer, the Italian pushed her against the rock and muttered: “Now I’ll teach you if I’m a boy or a man. And I don’t give a damn about your gunshot wound. Vixens like you deserve that and much more.” He stepped back and sat quietly on a rock. He looked around - no one was by there. Great.

Then Sciarra began to clean and load his gun calmly, saying: “You’re pretty. The prettiest English woman I've ever seen. Of course, you're not as beautiful as _her_ , but you've got a better body.” He attached the silencer to the gun barrel and said suddenly: “Undress.”

Lara stared at him. She was no longer smiling, but the Italian felt she was taunting him with her eyes.

“Listen, _bella_.” He continued. “There are two ways to do this - by hook or by crook. If you choose to cooperate you’ll perhaps have a good time. If you choose the hard way, it will be much more unpleasant. That Turkish friend of yours...cute girl! I haven’t stopped dreaming about her since I saw her for the first time. I couldn’t wait to see what was under her clothes...although I may reach that, since it seems, she'll be the next to fall...”

“You're disgusting.”

Sciarra smiled. “No more than any other of my kind. We’re fighters, girl, not monks. And all we’re the same...mercs, legionnaires...wait a minute, that guy you fucked the other night, wasn't he a legionnaire? Did you ever ask him how many women and children he raped in his years of service? He must have a pretty full quota...”

“That's like the pot calling the kettle black.” Lara said with a mocking voice.

For some reason, that bothered Sciarra, who suddenly pointed his gun at her: _“Bene_ , you bitch. Let's do this. If you don't get naked immediately, I'll shoot you down. Then I’ll rip off your clothes and do as I please...don’t care if you're alive or dead...undress!”

Lara's back went off the rock and said: “Okay, _bastardo_ , what do I take off first?”

_Whoa! Che coglioni che ha questa!_  Well, if she wanted to play, they would play. “Start by taking off your arm bandage.” The Italian said cruelly.

He'd scored a touchdown. Lara reached out and began to withdraw the bandages from her arm. Sciarra smiled as blood stains appeared. Finally the bands fell to the ground and so did the tablet Marie had adjusted with straps to hold the broken bone. After cotton detached, the bruised and broken arm was bared.

_“Dio mio”_. Murmured Sciarra. “That must hurt. Go on.”

Lara wore a fur robe that Marie had given her, tightened to the pants. She took off her tunic and pants with difficulty. Finally, there were just the bands wrapped around her breasts, slightly damp with blood. She put her hand on them, but then the Italian got up and said: _“Fermo, bella_. I'll do it.”

He took two steps and with a sharp pull, he tore up and down the bandage. At the time Lara seemed to have a moment of distress and collapsed to her knees.

“Hey, hey! No rush, I’ll ask for the _pompino_ later... _ouch!”_

Suddenly, Lara had dropped a knee into his groin. The next blow fell on his chin, and another punch knocked him down to the ground. The gun fell from his hand and saw it no more. Then he received one, two, three kicks full in the stomach. He tried to rise, but a third punch slammed his face into the dust. Suddenly he was grabbed by the neck, and Lara would've broken it right there if not for a stern voice commanding: “Let him go.”

Lara raised her eyes and saw Schäffer, who was pointing at her with the gun. She released Sciarra, who fell coughing and gasping in the dust, and quietly picked up her clothes.

“Why is the hostage naked?”

Sciarra had the decency of not answering. Lara, on her part, put on the robe while the boss angrily dismissed the Italian - then he looked at her. “Lara Croft. You’re truly a strange woman. Naked and wounded, yet still you beat up this pig - hope he'll learn the lesson. As for you...you've been lucky. You’re free. Someone has taken your place.”

Lara looked at him, alarmed, but he grabbed her arm and led her to the camp. Along the way, the soldiers turned to look at her...since the robe barely covered her thighs and it was clinging to her body as a result of the bleeding. She was feeling weaker and weaker.

“What have you done to her?” She heard a furious voice.

Lara recognized immediately Kurtis’ voice – he was there, surrounded at gunpoint by several mercs, but he stepped up to her and held her in his arms. He was also badly injured.

“What are you doing?” She whispered, looking into his eyes.

“We didn't hurt her.” Schäffer said aloud. “That comes from one man, to be punished for his insubordination.”

Kurtis put his arm around her and escorted her to a vehicle parked there. “Listen.” He whispered in her ear as they went. “I've exchanged myself for you. They have accepted to set you free if I surrender. Bathsheba has given her word, and I've no choice but to trust her.”

“You can’t do that!” She gasped, closing her eyes.

“You have to. You're hurt and nobody will help you. Drive to the north. You'll meet Selma, Zip and Meteora’s monks.” All this he said quietly. “Make them take you to a hospital. And above all, _don’t_ try to come back for me.” He opened the door and helped her to sit in front of the steering wheel. The mercs remained tense, targeting Kurtis without moving. Lara neither saw Marie nor Bathsheba anywhere.

“I can’t forsake you like this.” She insisted. “Why are you doing this? I’m irrelevant! I'm not important to them!”

“You’re important _to me.”_ Kurtis said. “You’re the most important. Don’t ever come back, Lara. They will release my mother later if they’re pleased with the outcome.” He closed the door and stepped back. Lara touched his arm, in a last attempt to stroke him, but her fingers slipped on the bloody bandage that wrapped his arm. “Drive fast, M'lady.” He smiled. “You’ll be alone now.”

Two mercs appeared behind him and held him away from the truck. She, who kept looking at him, noticed he'd shaped three words with silent lips. _I love you_.

Lara stepped on the accelerator. The truck disappeared shortly afterwards, leaving behind a trail of dust.

Then Schäffer said: “That was soooo touching. I almost cried. No doubt you’re a man of your word, Kurtis Trent. And now let’s go, such romanticism made me feel hungry.”

While being carried to the van, Kurtis noticed a white shadow in the corner of his eye. On the top of a rock, with her white robe flapping in the air, the beautiful Bathsheba smiled through the veil.

 

The hot sun burned her shoulders and her tears made it so she couldn’t see the path she followed clearly - but she hit the throttle. _Don’t look back, Lara. Above all, don’t look back. And bear a little more of this pain. If you live today, you’ll fight tomorrow._

After a while, she felt so weak she couldn’t go on. Her robe front was soaked with blood and her wounded arm gave her electric shocks of excruciating pain. She slowed down and eventually stopped. Letting out a groan, she leaned on the wheel, trying to hold back the tears that were already running down her cheeks.

_Don’t cry, silly girl. Don’t cry. What would Werner say if he saw you whining like a child? He would say: "Well, now she looks the part, the little aristocrat, Lord Croft's daughter!" Get up and stop whimpering!_ Her hands, sticky with blood, slipped across the leather steering wheel. A lock of hair fell over her eyes and she saw nothing more. _Oh, you're so brave Lara Croft! How easy it was when you had your arsenal and could kill the bad guys two by two, if you wanted. And look at you now. This is what your goddammit pride has brought you. Weep, then! That's all you've left!_

“Lara! Lara!”

Why didn’t they leave her alone? Why not let her die?

A pair of warm, affectionate hands surrounded her and separated her shoulders from the wheel. She saw the distorted face of a young sweet brunette she knew.

“Lara...it’s me, Selma...dear God, what did they do to you, those bastards...please, come and help me!”

And suddenly she felt lifted into the air and laid on the back of another vehicle, on a pallet, while the young girl covered her with a cloth. Lara began to shiver again. Too much blood lost.

“Hey, babe, hold on.” Whispered a black-skinned man, who she also thought she knew. “It’s all gonna be fine, right? We’ll take you to a hospital. And when you get well, time for payback. You’ll see.” The man smiled and winked. Then put his arm around the waist of the brunette girl, who leaned her head against his shoulder as she moaned softly.

Yes, she knew them both. But her last thought, before passing out, was of Kurtis.


	26. The Unexpected Gift

“Find her immediately! _Porca miseria!”_

Monteleone, furious, had ordered to pull up the camp in seconds. Suddenly, there was no point in remaining in Turkey a moment longer. The Scepter was gone - that treacherous bitch, Bathsheba, had taken it. And for days they had been attacked by those horrible creatures who smiled and adopted the contorted face of its victim. They were done.

But as they prepared to leave, the _capo_ received worse news – for his most precious jewel, his lovely and sensual Maddalena, was also gone. And worst of all, she'd taken the precious Vatican documents. It was an unexpected blow to him. Outraged, he'd ordered for Bay Li to be brought to him and harassed her with questions, but she stood with downcast eyes and said only: “I don’t know where she is, _signore_. I last saw her yesterday, at night.”

“Damn you, woman! You were her friend! Don’t you know anything?”

“ _Niente_ , _signore_.”

That infuriated the _capo_ , because Maddalena had had the nerve to rob him and run away while he was sleeping - and that was something he couldn't bear. How could his Maddalena leave him? Was it possible she'd been offended by the punishment to the point of running away?

He gathered his men and said: “To this day you know that no one leaves me, but I do. Maddalena couldn’t have gone too far. The only thing she's known in life so far is Syracuse's port and the shadow of my protection. She won’t make it alone, so find her immediately. _Capisci?_ And you must know those documents are my life.”

And they had come to fetch her - they tracked all around, even making an unprecedented effort of courage, they had dared to approach the necropolis, but to no avail. There was no trace of the beautiful redhead.

For the first time, Daniele Monteleone had to accept defeat. In a fit of rage, he ordered to set fire to the remains of Selma’s camp and went back to Sicily, taking his men and his harem with him.

 

* * *

 

In fact, Monteleone had underestimated the cunning Maddalena. A woman who since her childhood survives in a port learns to lose fear of darkness and loneliness, to flee when the situation requires it and to hide anywhere, and even know how to pass unnoticed if necessary. She wasn't only cunning but also clever - and had reached the limit of her patience. She decided to leave her protector and although she was in an inhospitable environment and in an unknown country, she'd enough courage to shake off the chains with which her master had bound her for some time.

Maddalena was a woman who knew how to wait. She'd waited patiently for the proper time. Now, she would never return.

She left the camp in deep night, carrying no more than a bag with some clothes and personal documents. She entered quietly into Monteleone’s tent, who slept peacefully, and reached to the closet where he kept all valuable documents, opened it and began to take all the folders and put them in her bag quickly. At that time, she heard the _capo’s_ sleepy voice growling: “Is that you, _carissima_...what are you doing here?”

“Oh Daniele...” She muttered, trembling. “I feel so miserable. Don’t take me away from your side. Forgive me for my offence.”

Hidden in the darkness, the man had smiled. “Ah, _bella mia._..don’t torment yourself. We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Now go to sleep.” And he'd turned in his bed.  Maddalena remained motionless until she heard him snoring. Then she took the rest of the documents and left.

She walked through the camp with a heavy heart. Deep in her heart, leaving him hurt her - there was a time when she'd loved him...but that had been so long ago. She also regretted having to leave without saying goodbye to Bay Li... she expected that at least, due to her departure, the Chinese woman would become the leader of that particular harem. At least, she no longer had to put up with Sciarra.

The Italian woman crossed the stream, shuddering at the memory of Kurtis: with bare torso and cooling his face. She promised to find him, wherever he was - but first she had to run away.

No one saw her leave. Half of the Italians slept, and for the other half, some were drunk, and others with prostitutes. Nobody was interested in her.

She walked down the road, carrying the bag, while the beautiful rock formations of Cappadocia greeted her along the way. The sky was starry and a cool breeze was blowing.

And Maddalena felt good and had no fear. She was free after many years.

 

* * *

 

She walked all night. More than once she wanted to lie down to rest, but she knew she should not, they might find her as well. She needed to leave the desert; even if she wasn't sure where she was going...she simply followed the road.

It was the beginning of dawn when Maddalena found the cottage. She'd removed her shoes from her bruised feet and was exhausted. Then she found a house literally shattered, turned upside down, inside and out. Beside it was a van. The redhead entered and toured the rooms, but found no one. Everything was destroyed.

Then she took some food and clothes - almost all of them fur coats and pants, and headed decidedly to the truck, while quietly thanking the Sicilian saints for granting her a better way of escape. Thank God, she knew how to drive; Monteleone had granted her the opportunity as a mere whim. Of course, she'd never had the chance to drive - now she could.

Getting behind the wheel, she noticed a small object on the seat. She fumbled it with her fingers and pulled it out. To her surprise, it was a necklace made of wood and twisted threads, which had feathers hanging from it. The clasp was broken.

Maddalena immediately recognized the object. It was a dreamcatcher, one of those little Indian amulets used to filter evil. She hung it from her neck and pulled the truck out.

 

* * *

 

The Cabal’s exodus ended on the Turkish coast, where they expected a ship to take them to the Island. Kurtis observed the massive ship with apathy. So, those murderers had enough money to pay for that - unbelievable.

Since he'd voluntarily surrendered to his pursuers to set Lara free, Kurtis was shackled like a criminal and escorted by two heavily armed mercs. But he'd refused to use his psychic powers - Bathsheba had plucked that oath from him. If he tried to use them, his mother would be immediately executed.

Marie Cornel, fifteen feet away from him and also being escorted, looked distressed at her son. They hadn’t allowed her to approach him – not that she could say anything to him. And now a greater grief would be added, for the second part of the deal was to be accomplished.

Those men began to rise and carry luggage as they loaded the vehicles to the cargo hold. Kurtis turned to Bathsheba, who'd arrived quietly. She was veiled no more, but kept her face hidden in the depths of her hood.

“Keep your word now.” He told her. “Release her.”

The Nephilim turned and made a gesture to the men who escorted Marie. These, on the spot, removed the woman’s handcuffs, while Bathsheba added: “You’re free, Marie Cornel. However, you’ll remain in my thoughts. I know you’re a worthy person and you know where your Shard is. But all this I’ll ignore for the moment, as a sign of my great benevolence.” She omitted to say, of course, she would continue searching for the Shards and, if necessary, she'd resort to any means to find them.

Then the beauty turned to the men escorting Kurtis and made another gesture. They pushed him to the access platform and made him go up on the deck, and then they handcuffed him to the railing of the board.

At that very moment, Marie lost her temper. “Kurtis!” She stretched her trembling arms out to her son. “Kurtis!”

“C'mon, oldster, you already heard!” Muttered one of the mercs, pushing her back. “Get the hell outta here!”

Several guns turned towards Marie and she went back, yelling: “Curse all of you! You’re so bloodthirsty you’ll drown in blood! Damn you all!” She extended her finger towards Bathsheba, who was staring at her quietly. “You monster! Your time will arrive, as it arrived to all of your kin! Freak! You won’t overcome it! You’ll never, never have peace!”

“Get her out of here.” The Nephilim ordered wearily.

Between shouts and insults Marie was dragged beyond the pier and left locked in a hut of fishermen. Then, the ship cast off.

Kurtis had watched the scene in silence. Nothing was left to say. He simply couldn't understand how he'd come to this situation. But he wasn't invulnerable - he'd been defeated many times, and this time would be the worst.

 

* * *

 

They sailed to the south and the second day turned to the east. During this time, Kurtis remained on the deck, handcuffed to the railing, for Schäffer had thought he might be able to cast himself into the sea.

Against all expectations, Sciarra hadn't been punished for trying to rape Lara. On the fourth day, very proud of himself, he began to boast about the explorer’s beautiful body, making sure that Kurtis heard it. The Italian hoped he'd have a tantrum, so the Lux Veritatis would try to pounce on him. It would be funny to see him tugging at his handcuffs.

However, Sciarra felt disappointed. Kurtis wasn't willing to enter the game. He answered to his provocations with a sneer. Infuriated, the Italian promised himself to bring that proud man down a peg when the rest weren’t watching.

The journey took six days. Bathsheba rarely slept - she wandered along the deck drinking in the sun and breeze with delight. The sea charmed her cold heart. Even she relaxed, and dropped the hood to get the sun on her white face, oblivious to the voracious male gazes which devoured her in silence.

Kurtis wasn’t at all indifferent to her beauty. From the first time he'd been confused by that face - there was something familiar in her. That fresh young beauty with a strange, ancient maturity. Not only because her features, her black hair and green eyes, but also because of the feeling she conveyed. The Nephilim acted like a woman who'd lived centuries on the Earth, but her body, her face, her charm was absolutely young.

“Oh, you've guessed it?”

Kurtis looked up. Bathsheba was there at his side, her hair dishevelled - she'd released it and it went beyond the waist. Her cheeks were flushed by the sun. “At first I thought you were blind and you'd never recognize me.” She smiled. “But I know it was hard - your instincts prevented you from a pure Nephilim, born of the Great Goddess and I... I wasn’t born directly from Her.”

She looked at him silently for a moment, and then she shook her head. “How can you be so calm, now that you have your mortal enemy in front of you again? You don’t move, you don’t fret. You're an ice floe. Don’t you wonder how it’s possible that, despite two years ago you doomed the Not To Be the last Nephilim; you have in front of you a female Nephilim, a maiden whose face brings to memory Kristina Boaz as she must have been before both Eckhardt and the acid razed her in body and mind, but whose aura and essence will, no doubt, bring you the name of Joachim Karel?”

She walked over to him and stretching her white hand, put it on his arm. “You don’t even tremble at my touch. Maybe because I'm beautiful? It's easy to hate the ugly. It’s easy to kill demons. Your hand didn’t tremble when killing my father - for I’m Karel’s daughter. Would you now hesitate if you had to destroy this beautiful creature? Would you stab me the same way you stabbed him?”

Her hand reached up to his shoulder, her slender, long-nailed fingers hooking the edge of his shirt’s sleeve and lifting it, revealing his burned shoulder. “Here he hurt you. He erased your order’s symbol before you killed him. Oh, I know everything - I've seen it. I know many things, but there remains a great mystery for me, which is you. I don’t understand how you’ve been able to fulfil your oath. I’ve been told you were cunning, treacherous and deceitful. I’ve been told you didn’t know what honour is. And if it’s not honour what you’ve done...what else is honour, then? You’re going to the slaughterhouse. And I know you could sink this ship right now if you want, using that Gift you have. You would sink with all of us inside - why don’t you try?”

Kurtis looked at her for a moment, then he turned his face towards the ocean. Bathsheba slipped her hand again, and he shuddered...in pain.

“Would you let me heal these wounds, Kurtis Trent?” She said. “The Nephilim have always been great healers. A touch of our fingers, a breath of our mouths, and there was no harm, however serious it was, which couldn’t be fixed...”

“That's funny, isn't it?” He suddenly said with sarcasm. “You had the power to heal...but you only destroyed.”

The spell was broken. Bathsheba went back, tight-lipped, furious. “You really must have loved this woman to surrender in exchange for her freedom, right? But now the world will never be safe for her or for anyone. Perhaps she will also be destroyed, if she interferes in our way again. Although you _won’t_ see it!” She turned and walked away - the wind ruffling her clothes and hair.

“My Lady!” Then shouted Schäffer. “We sight the Island!”

 

* * *

 

“Lara...how are you? The doctor says she can’t believe you've endured so many days with that wound...I said to her you were really, really tough. You'll see, you’ve revolutionized the hospital, as soon as you get better, many will come in to ask for some autographs...”

But she wasn't listening. She neither desired to answer - and it wasn't anything physical, because she had almost recovered after many transfusions, except from some nausea and vomiting. She felt not strong enough to keep on fighting.

“...you see, not every day you can meet Lara Croft!” Selma was saying, sitting beside her bed. “Zip spends his days entertaining the people and has even forged your signature to sell some autographs for his part...”

What to do now? She had to think of something. She couldn't stay idle, but returning to England was not an option, though in Turkey there was nothing left to do.

“Selma.” Lara murmured, interrupting the Turk’s happy chatter. “Thank you for trying to cheer me up, but I remind you that Kurtis has been taken by the cult which wished to kill him since he was a child, his mother hasn't yet appeared, and Radha has been kidnapped from Surrey. You really think _something_ worse could happen now?”

The Turkish archaeologist narrowed her beautiful black eyes and muttered: “Surrender. That would be worse.”

Lara smiled bitterly. Suddenly, she punched the mattress: “They took me for a fool! Is that it? I've been gently released, but Radha's abducted - a teenager who's in a foreign country and hasn't had an easy life! And she was under my custody. What do they want me to do? To ignore that just because they spared my life? To stop chasing them just because Miss Perfect has decided to spare me, because they have Kurtis to torture? _Over my dead body!”_ She stopped, altered. Selma watched her in silence, her face solemn.

“We're still the Shards’ keepers.” The young girl whispered. “Marie, you and I. They will come after us, sooner or later.”

“Of course.” Lara hissed. “But I _won’t_ be waiting for them! When will I be dismissed?”

“Two days more or less.”

“In two days we must be prepared, Zip, you and I. We’ll contact Ivanoff and Charles. We must find Marie. Then...we'll see what to do.”

“Will they keep their word and release her?”

_I hope so_ , thought Lara, discouraged, _I hope so._

 

* * *

 

“May I enter?” Said the doctor smiling after knocking on the door slightly.

“Of course.”

Selma had left to rest and finally Lara had some moments of peace – a peace that wouldn't last too long.

“Not sure if you were aware of this.” The doctor started to say, flipping a few documents in her hand. “Still it’s my duty to let you know.”

“Is something wrong?”

The doctor smiled. “Wrong? Not at all. It's pretty surprising you were able to get over this so fast. That bullet could've pierced your heart or at least severely damaged your lung - but you reacted like...like if you already knew you were going to get shot right there.”

“Somewhat, I knew.” Lara smiled. “What happens then?”

“Well, you’ll probably already know, but as that period of nausea and vomiting made it so difficult for us to treat you appropriately, I took the trouble to order tests to rule out more serious problems, and well, this is what we got.” And she delivered her a printed sheet. Lara took it and examined it carefully. Then she paled at seeing that, and lifted her stunned face to the smiling doctor.

“But...this is impossible! Are you sure..?”

“We’re professional, Miss Croft - and perfectly able to distinguish a pregnancy from gastritis.”

“But... _this...!”_

“I see you didn’t expect this to happen. Cheer up. Considering how bad you came to be, not having had a miscarriage is more than being lucky. It's almost a miracle. Another miracle.” She turned and walked toward the door. Opening it, she turned to leave, and when looking again at her, she laughed. “Don't pull that face! Expecting a baby is not like being diagnosed with terminal cancer.” She closed the door, still laughing, and walked down the aisle.

Lara spent a long time stiff, motionless, staring at the positive on the sheet.

“Lara? Are you awake?”

Upon hearing Selma’s voice, the British explorer made a ball with the sheet, put it under her pillow and sat on it. The tireless Turkish archaeologist was back there to keep her company.

But Lara didn’t hear anything she said. Her head was spinning and she felt nauseous again. Pregnant! She was _pregnant_!

_How is it possible?_ she thought, desperate. _You took precautions. You had everything in control. You thought that wouldn't fail. And it failed! Now what? What to do?_

It was as if the earth was opening under her feet. Never, ever, ever, she would've wanted nor expected this. Then she remembered...the first time with him...the longing, the anticipation of desire, not thinking about anything except having him finally...one mistake was enough to regret it now. Great! Lord Croft’s daughter, a fully-grown woman, just screwed it up like an inexperienced teenager!

“Lara, are you okay?” Selma was looking at her, worried.

Why did she never leave her alone? Why was she always so concerned? For a bullet wound? For a broken arm? For having almost bled to death? Or because he was now in the hands of his enemies and she might not ever see him again? Or...?

They shouldn’t know - no one ever should know _that_. In silence, Lara considered the possibility of undoing the wrong. Get rid of that new burden, that unexpected gift. But if she did, she must hurry - and nobody had to know. At heart, she knew it couldn't go on - she had to get rid of it. She had to find Kurtis.

“Selma, I'm exhausted. I need to rest.”

“Agreed. But call me if you need something, okay?”

As soon as she closed the door, Lara jumped into the bathroom to vomit again.


	27. Lilith’s Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a beautiful concept art from Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness.

Four days later, Lara, Selma and Zip were in Romania’s heart, before the imposing castle of Bran, permanent home of Professor Vladimir Ivanoff.

“So, this is really Count Dracula’s castle?” Zip asked, chewing gum, with the laptop under his arm.

“So say the legends.” Lara said smiling while guiding them through the corridors crowded with tourists. But when remembering the tapestry, the tortured prisoner, and the unfortunate fate of Loanna Von Skopf, her smile faded.

Ivanoff was waiting near his department. When the small man with cloves and glasses saw them, he came over and shook hands politely. “I’m delighted you’ve decided to come! You know, wandering all around isn't my point...”

“Vlad, the castle's beautiful.” Said Selma. “The damage Gunderson’s men did is not visible anymore.”

He frowned. “Undoubtedly, the Government has lavished their efforts and pleas to raise funds to rebuild this jewel. Which I can’t say about other government matters.”

He led them to his office and made them feel comfortable. In those years, the professor had gained great reputation for his studies on the Lux Veritatis and the Nephilim, closely linked to the history of his beloved monument.

“Well.” He coughed at the beginning. “We were in contact some weeks ago, when everything went to hell. I wonder about that connection failure...”

“Hey, four-eyes.” Zip interrupted, stopping chewing his gum. “There was no _connection failure_. My connections _never_ fail. We just got in a little trouble, is all.”

Taking the word, Lara told him about Monteleone’s attack, the drive to save her life, her recovery, and finally, Bathsheba and her men’s arrival and the entire sad conclusion. Selma added to her account their stance in Tenebra. When they were done, Ivanoff remained thoughtful, and finally he said: “This looks very bad. If you want my humble opinion, you must face the fact that this beautiful woman is a Nephilim.”

“How can you be so sure?” Lara asked.

“Oh come on, darling. You know it even better than I. You've been in the presence of this creature. You've heard her...and you’ve also met Karel. Tell me, did you see any similarities between those two? Something in the way they speak...in the way they simply are?”

Lara remained silent for a moment. Zip and Selma looked at her, concerned.

“More than that...I see a very great number of similarities. But Vlad, it’s not possible. Karel was the last Nephilim after I destroyed the Sleeper - and he’s dead.”

“But...” Ivanoff leaned towards her. “What if he had a daughter?”

Lara's mouth twitched with a sarcastic grin. “Should I remind you he wanted _me_ to achieve that? To use me as child bearer of his offspring?”

A bubble burst in Zip's face, covering him with pink sticky gum as he watched Lara, stunned.

“Well, yes...” Ivanoff admitted. “But...”

“Wait.” Lara said suddenly, squinting. “Now that you mention it...Bathsheba's face...has something familiar to me.”

Everyone looked at her expectantly, while Zip tore the sticky gum from his face. They saw Lara quiver and then she exclaimed: “Kristina Boaz!”

“What?” Selma and Ivanoff said at the same time.

“Boaz! The Cabal scientist! The one punished by Eckhardt by being transformed into an abominable being, killed by Kurtis.”

“And who almost killed him.” Selma whispered grimly.

Lara had risen and was spinning around the room, as she often did when her mind was working at full speed. “Kristina's face was burned...deformed by an accident, so I didn’t notice before. But Bathsheba's face...is very similar to hers. The same black hair...the same green eyes...just she’s a thousand times more beautiful! It’s her she looks like! Or maybe...” She collapsed on the couch again, dazed, as she started to realize. “My God. Giselle.”

“Who?”

“Kristina's sister! That blonde, crazy doctor who kept me sedated for days when I was the Cabal’s prisoner. I remember her feeling some sort of attraction for Karel...she practically had _‘I love him’_ written on her forehead.”

“So there was some _quality time_ spent between them and Miss Perfect was the result.” Zip crooned, making a new gum ball.

Lara laughed. “With Karel? C'mon! Karel was unable to love even his own shadow.”

“Don’t need to be in love to fuck…”

“I know - but it still doesn’t convince me. During that time, Karel was obsessed with me. I don’t think...” She paused again and frowned. “Unless Bathsheba's a laboratory creation.”

“Lara!” Selma shook her head. “Humans can’t be created in a lab! Maybe that woman has an extraordinary beauty, but it’s still a woman!”

“Huh? What about Nikos Kavafis? The demon she threw to him was her pet? What about the stolen Periapt and Scepter? C'mon, Selma! She’s not _just_ a woman!”

“A Nephilim.” Zip hissed, grinning evilly. “A Nephilim created with Boaz’s genetic material, mixed with the Fallen Angel’s seed.”

“Yuck, Zip, shut up!” The Turk shuddered.

For a few minutes, nobody said anything. Finally, Zip, bored, said: “Well, you can call me an ass, but all this chit-chat about that Sex Symbol’s origins is pointless. By the time we decide something poor Kurt will be roasted and nailed to a cross…”

“ _Don’t joke about_ _that!”_ Lara exploded, turning towards him. The poor guy jumped back, terrified by her passionate fury.

Ivanoff coughed then: “Do you know anything of Mrs. Cornel?”

“Nothing.” Selma said. “But she’s the keeper of the third Shard.”

The professor scratched his head. “If only I had that _mafioso_ ’s valuable documents! They would help us greatly -  tell us something about the Scepter and its purpose. We'd outline some of the plan achieved by the enemy!”

Lara stood up then. “Selma, Zip, you’ll stay here with Vlad. You've to check all files and entries we have...about everything. For this Vlad’s wisdom, Selma’s knowledge and wit, and Zip’s computing skills are necessary. I'll contact you.”

“Where are you going?” They said.

“To find some help. We can’t do this alone. But I'll tell you. I intend to find Marie...and maybe _we’ll_ go get those documents.”

 

* * *

 

Maddalena shuddered, huddled in the ship's hold while listening to the sailors’ snoring. After a while, she lit a lamp and picked up her bag.

It had been two days since she'd left Turkey. After driving towards the inhabited region, she questioned here and there about Bathsheba’s men.

The news had been spread fast - it turned out that two days before, an impressive ship with armed men had left the coast. Everybody talked about it quietly and in fear. That had upset the beautiful prostitute, because if they had gone, it meant they had already captured Kurtis...whom she wanted to find before anything else in the world.

Maddalena spent three days in the port, earning the passage money to go to Cyprus. It was rumoured the ship had taken that route - at least, it would be a beginning. At first she felt sick for having to bear with those heavy, hairy bodies, reeking of sweat and alcohol, which reminded her of her doomed childhood in Syracuse. But she was a red-haired white woman in a land where all women were brown skinned and had black hair. She triumphed as ever and not only did she make money for the fare, but also enough to stay for a while without having to repeat the disgusting experience.

Thus, the third day she could embark on a fishing ship which would stop at Cyprus. Of course, she had to promise an extra session to the captain, but fortunately he seemed cleaner than his men - and now, huddled in the darkness of the cellar, Maddalena went over Monteleone’s documents in silence, stroking with the other hand the dreamcatcher that hung from her neck.

“Look! An educated whore!” Mocked one of the sailors. “She even knows how to read!

“Outta here, asshole!” She snapped, pulling out a butcher knife she'd stolen in the port shipyards, which was really handy in warding off unwanted men.

The sailor left her alone and she returned to the study of the documents. Her heart was beating violently. The world disappeared around her, except for what that paper was saying...

 

* * *

 

_In the year of grace 1490. The Great Goddess has awakened. We shudder to think of possible consequences. I know we are warriors and we swore to devote the Gift to fight against evil, and specially against the Nephili, but our heart aches to think what it would be to confront Her. For She, among all the creatures that spewed from the Vortex and that Heaven rejects, is the most terrible and darkest of them. She looks like a beautiful woman, but both her breath and her heart burn like fire. Her cursed children have awakened to take revenge on us. And our faith falters for this._

_She, the impure Lilith, waving her Scepter, will bring us down at once. We are afraid. We can fight the devil, we can fight the very Nephili but how to deal with a goddess older than the world itself? Can we defeat Her, She who reads minds and hearts, whose arm is longer than the River of Fire, which can crush us with a powerful blow of her Scepter?_

_We are the servants of the Light of Truth. We must be strong. If we could wrest the Scepter...maybe we could drive Her away. But nobody will be able to approach Her._

_When She arrives engulfed in flames, no one will be able to stand looking at Her. Even those who love Her._

 

* * *

 

“Hey, hottie!” Exclaimed a rude voice.

Maddalena looked up and shouted: “If you don’t go away now, I'll caress your guts with _this.”_ She brandished the knife. “Got it?”

 

* * *

 

_In the year of grace 1497. The war drags on. She has returned to her dark abode, but has infused new energy into Her damn children. Nephili are now stronger than ever. And we are few and weak._

_She withdrew voluntarily. She really didn’t want her white feet to step on this defiled land. The pure air chokes Her, because She breathes sulphur. She, Bulinka’s princess, devil’s queen, the impure Lilith. With Her withdrawal, we again have a chance._

_We can’t believe, however, we had such unfortunate luck. Now I know that it complies with the legend: Lilith found the Periapt. She tore it out of the hands of Meteora’s holy_ _community. It was Her sons who turned it over and She did the unthinkable: She broke it into four pieces. From each one of them She carved the Damned Scepter as Her weapon. With it She can rule all the demons of the earth and tear lives in one fell swoop. With the other three shards, oh God! She carved three daggers. And then She regenerated the Periapt to leave it intact._

_My quill shakes when writing. It’s said the Great Goddess cast on these objects a terrible curse. She extended Her sharp fingers on them and cursed them. She made them unbreakable. And now even though we try, we can’t destroy the Periapt. Neither the Shards. They rebuilt themselves when broken in pieces. Lilith's evil spirit forces them to stay together._

_But that's not all. The Shards are cursed...I can’t believe the Great Goddess has haunted them...to destroy Her own children! She said: "I give to the Three Periapt Shards the_ _power to doom my beloved children to the Not To Be, but only if they’re wielded by a Warrior of Light, a Lux Veritatis. I do this because my children are proud and didn’t want to listen to my advice. If they act wisely, they will live, but if pride corrupts them, they will die._

 

* * *

 

“It's terrible.” Maddalena whispered to herself. “As if a mother crafts the weapon that would kill her son. Why would she do that? What did they do to displease her that much?”

 

* * *

 

_But despite being full of rage, the Great Mother didn’t leave Her children alone. She gave them the Sacred Scepter...and it's not in vain; it’s a terrible weapon, more powerful than the Shards themselves._

_Lilith’s Scepter, the Fourth Periapt Shard, coated in silver to not reveal its real material! Whoever wields it can send legions and legions of demons to ravage the earth, or to throw them to the Vortex’s black abyss if its carrier ordered so! It’s a truly terrible and powerful weapon._

_Now, our Order must find it. We have both the Periapt and the Shards, but without the Scepter, we’re still at a disadvantage. If we take it, we could rule the hellish creatures and send them back to the abyss from which they came. But it’s very complicated..._

 

* * *

 

The manuscript stopped there. Sighing, the redhead woman turned the paper and left it in the folder. She couldn't stop thinking about what she'd just read. At first, everything had seemed fanciful to her - but now it was as if something strange coursed through her gut. Only she'd known how eager the search of the Scepter was for Monteleone, far and wide around the world. He'd lived for the Scepter, for the Scepter he'd dreamed of. He'd had it at two inches from his nose and had lost it. She understood his rage and despair, until trying to kill Lara Croft.

Maddalena crossed herself with trembling fingers. Hell, demons, Warriors of the Light, dark goddesses...too complex for her devout mind. She, who'd spent so many nights turning the beads of her rosary to clean her impure soul, felt awe at the mention of those things. And if those documents were mentioned as valuable, it was because all they had written was true as life itself.

And now, that dark woman, Bathsheba, whose beauty and perversity itself reminded her of Lilith, had taken the Scepter. Maybe she aspired to command Hell’s legions over Earth? Why she would desire Kurtis’ death? What danger could lead to her that quiet and reserved man, but also lethal if he wanted to be?

While thinking about it, Maddalena saw the first sunbeams filtering through the frames of the ship. On deck, a sailor had just announced they’ve sighted Cyprus.

 

* * *

 

“My girl!” Giselle embraced Bathsheba, who'd dropped again her hood at the time her feet trod on the beach’s golden sand. As they descended, the mercenaries looked at the two women sideways, like two twins who spent time apart.

“I brought you a gift.” The Nephilim murmured, smiling.

“ _Him!”_ The scientist said shuddering.

Kurtis left the boat, escorted in handcuffs. He looked around the beach and the imposing fortress, then he looked at Giselle. He made a sour face when recognizing her, but it was her who came forward to him, as she said: “It's been two years since you and your partner in crime plotted to almost bring us to our end. How different things are now, right? I’m no longer the fragile young woman you met then. Now I’m the Mistress...the leader of this community which is now strong. As you can see, some bad carved crystal isn’t enough to turn off the Cabal’s splendour.”

Bathsheba seemed uncomfortable with that speech, but Giselle, ignoring her, came to her and pulled the cloak from her shoulders. In doing so, her hair fell to her knees. In that moment it was as if a gust of perfume filled the air. Giselle smiled, knowing that at that time, all those men, having come from different corners of the globe and trained to kill, wanted her daughter to despair; but she also knew that if one of them laid a finger on her, they would fall ill, struck for his audacity.

“Look at her!” Giselle glared at Kurtis as she spoke. “Perhaps you’ve looked at her these past few days, enjoying her beauty. But she won’t be to you but your own death. You already know who she is, right? You thought you'd destroyed all the _Nephili!_ Behold how easy it is for the Cabal to breathe life back into the Blessed. The High Breed reborn again and you're looking at their new Mother. You see her well? You find any similarity with the being created by my sister Kristina, whom you killed?”

“Well,” Kurtis said mockingly, “I can see you love to display her like a puppet. You’ve outdone yourself, Dr. Barbie: from butcher to clown.”

There was a heavy silence, and among the mercenaries’ ranks a muffled laughter was heard. Schäffer moved forward, indignant, but Giselle came before him - she threw her hand back and slapped Kurtis. Not too hard, of course, because she'd small and delicate hands, but the diamond ring she carried in one of her fingers scratched his cheek, opening a gash from the temple to the corner of his lips, which began to bleed slightly. Bathsheba looked fascinated at the red liquid pouring slowly.

Giselle raised her hand again, but then her daughter came forward and stopped her. “Leave him.” Bathsheba whispered. “All he wants is to provoke you.”

The doctor went back, panting and flushed. “Get him out of my sight!” Then she ordered.

They hastened to please her. Slowly, the mercenaries left the beach and retreated to their resting places. After paying their respects to Giselle, Schäffer also withdrew. Mother and daughter were alone on the beach.

“I hate him!” Then gasped the scientist. “I hate him with all my strength! I'm going to wipe that smirk off his face. I'm going to have him on his knees before both of us! He’s mocked us long enough. Who does he think he is! We'll see when our boys take care of him, if he remains so gutsy.”

Bathsheba said nothing. The breeze blowing on the beach ruffled her hair, wrapping her in a kind of black cloud. “And when you've destroyed him, what else, Mother? When you've crushed him and removed the last drop of his blood. When he's dead...”

“Then will come time for our success. My experiments will turn out well. And you'll be the origin of the new Breed...as high as it was before. You’re Karel’s daughter, never forget.”

_And what will you do, Mother? Would you offer me to a hideous mortal? Would you mix me with him as my father wanted to do with that explorer? Will that unfortunate’s death return your inner peace? Will you stop suffering, mourning at night, only_ _because of having seen Kurtis Trent’s blood poured on the slabs of your fortress? Is that what you want? Is that what you've become?_

“I must go.” The Nephilim whispered. “The journey has been long and I'm exhausted.” She turned and headed towards the fortress. When looking up, she saw a small face between the curtains of one of the rooms and said: “What shall we do with the girl from India?”

“For the moment we’ll keep her. She’ll serve to put pressure on Lara Croft. But when she ceases to be useful...”

_Yes, Mother. You’ll kill her, as you do with everything that no longer serves you. Eckhardt disgusted you, but you’re now like him. But what do I care? They’re only mortals. The world is full of mortals, and they never end. I’m the only one that stands alone. I’m the only important one here._

 

* * *

 

“How cool was that badass comeback!” Sciarra mocked peering through the bars. “We'll see if you’re still so cocky when they’re tearing your skin into strips.”

Kurtis didn’t answer but he would've willingly crushed his boot sole in the Italian's gritty face. Instead, he forced himself to remain seated, because he knew if he got up, that coward would turn away from the bars and laugh at his frustration.

_Let him talk, man. He’ll shut the fuck up eventually._

He was locked away many feet underground in the fortress dungeon. Despite being in the fucking XXI century, that crazy Giselle had those tunnels dug in rock and carved in cells. Now Kurtis was chained to a wall through which seawater streams oozed and those chains looked like they could have been taken from a torture museum - it was madness.

Down there was no sunlight. Everything was plunged into permanent darkness, except for the dim light of electrical lanterns, lit only when some of his captors came down. And the cells were empty, no one was there but him, or so he thought. Down the hall he noticed some clarity and the deafening roar of waves, so he guessed he was inside the cliff he'd seen before, on the beach.

While Sciarra was still insulting him, Kurtis made a mental recount of his wounds. It wasn't much, except for the shot in the knee: the butchered arms, the blow on the head, a split lip and a scratched cheek. It wasn't serious, considering he needed to be prepared for the worst.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you deaf? Come on, fight me like a man. You know what I mean? That English bitch had more balls than you. Sadly she was released by the boss' command - otherwise I'd have taught her who _really_ was the boss there. I already got her on her knees, ready to blow me, when...”

“Why don’t you shut up and go to hell?”

Sciarra turned his head in surprise. Kurtis wasn't the one who'd replied. He also looked to the left, and to his surprise, a deformed shadow emerged from the darkness. In the cell next door, also in chains, was a bent old man, dressed only with shreds of cloth, and covered with pupae and dirt.

_“Mamma mia!”_ The Italian mocked. “Look, asshole, you've got a cellmate! A disgusting old hunchback!”

“Get away, you piece of dross!” Said the old man, extending his arms. “Or I’ll spread my leprosy on you!”

It was enough to make Sciarra go back off with a jump, letting go of the bars. The old man, without thinking, bent, jingling his chains, and picked up a stone. Then he threw it while repeating: “I said get the hell outta here!”

The stone whizzed through the bars and struck the Italian on the nose. Screaming then, he went back upstairs, cursing loudly. There was a thud, like a door closing, and then there was silence.

“Steady aim, old man.” Kurtis said.

“Marcus. Call me Marcus, son.” The elder slumped in his corner and disappeared from his view, so dense was the darkness, although only a barred wall separated them. “That rascal was getting on my nerves.” He curled up and crossed his legs. “Huh, by the way, don’t worry.” He added. “I don’t have leprosy; those are the wounds made by these damn chains.”

“How long you’ve been here?”

Marcus closed his eyes. “I can’t remember...weeks, perhaps months. I don’t know. The fortress is recent. I was already their hostage when it was built. I was captured in Moscow, almost a year ago, I think. It's hard to keep track below. In this eternal shadow...”

Kurtis could look at him better now - he was swaying back and forth while holding his weak stomach. “Then they moved me here and I was thrown in this filthy hole. I was the only occupant of this prison until now...and I’m so hungry...”

“Why do they keep you?”

“Reckoning. I’m valuable - the only one left of my kind. Ah, what a pain...they forgot about me. At first, I was tortured. I thought I'd die - but they got tired. There's no fun in torturing an old man...he’s weak, he dies soon. They left me here. I’m fed about once a day. I asked them to kill me...but they don’t want to. I'll die here of hunger, and rats will eat me - if I don’t drown at high tide first.”

“The tide comes up here?”

“Yes, boy. We’re on the cliff. When the tide rises, its hollow belly is filled. The dungeon's flooded. She knows it - that mad blonde woman. She knows the tide rises and rises until it reaches my neck and I've to cling to the ceiling so the chains don’t drag me to the bottom and drown me...” He groaned and twitched.

Kurtis didn’t need to be a genius to notice that poor man wasn't _entirely_ sane.

“And you, boy? Why are you here?”

The Lux Veriatis smiled. “Reckoning.”

 

* * *

 

Marie wandered aimlessly along the road, stumbling over the stones as she wept, as all the helplessness of the world escaped through her eyes. For years she'd avoided crying, she'd bitten her lips. She'd had no right to mourn, to lament, for she should keep her son safe, and herself, and her husband, wherever he might be. Now she'd nothing left. Now she could weep.

The Navajo woman didn’t know how long she'd walked. Perhaps she'd spent many hours when her feet took her again to the camp near the necropolis. Only a few remnants of it were smouldering after the fire ordered by Monteleone. She didn’t even ask herself why, but walked hesitantly towards the entrance of the necropolis - not before taking a lighted torch she found in the sandy soil.

She crossed the tunnel lighting up with one shred of fire, and at her step she set fire to all the _Nephili_ lying in their niches. That concavity of the stone kept them individually in a sort of oven where they burnt, easily consumed. She walked calmly, knowing she was destroying the last evidence of the existence of those creatures on Earth, and basking in it. The flames spread and made prey of the tunnels, but she left them behind and went ahead.

Marie wasn't upset by the horror of the putrid pit and its stench. She crossed that monstrous chamber and when she felt the jaws opening under her feet, she just dropped the torch. The fire caught in the rotting flesh and insects and spread like fire. Then the Navajo woman reached out and continued to advance slowly, as the huge beast roared in pain.

When her steps led her to Tenebra, she felt seized by her beauty, but she also regretted having had to sacrifice her torch, because she'd have willingly burned that den of Evil too, if the rock could be burnt. But her eyes were now fixed no more in the city - she'd sighted the crucified ones.

Marie descended in silence, her heart in a fist and her soul tore apart. She walked, stopping at every foot of a cross; reading each of the executed ones’ names and trying to remember the faces of the deceased. But her friends were no more hanging there - only their dry remains.

With a glistening film of sweat on her skin, the Navajo woman reached the greatest cross of all. “Konstantin.” She murmured, reaching out, but her fingers didn’t get to touch the skeletal feet. They had nailed him very high, high up, so he could see the agony of others while suffering his own.

Marie slipped down on her knees with her face pressed to the dry wood. She buried her face into the ground. That dead man _wasn't_ Konstantin, the man she'd loved, the man she _still_ loved, for he'd flown high, high up, higher than that cross. He wasn't there. She shouldn't mourn. He no longer was suffering, while her...

If she'd had the farsee Gift, as his husband and their son, she'd have seen him, firm and calm, the day he was crucified...

 

* * *

 

_Hammer, nails screeching. Screams, sobs. Heartbreaking screams. Women crying, children wailing. The final sacrifice - the Order’s last day._

_Eckhardt watched his work: one hundred twenty-two crosses nailed on the way up to the city of Eden. Flanked by his two closest partners - at his left, a cold and impassive Karel, at his right, Gertrude, who watched that with shining eyes._

_Slowly, relentlessly, Gunderson’s men had been nailing them one after another, without pity for the woman, for the young child. One after another. The concert of screams and howls of pain froze blood in the veins._

_Gunderson himself had earned the honour of escorting Konstantin Heissturm to his place of torment. He was about sixty years old, still strong; despite his grey hair he was terribly alike to his son, according to Gunderson. The Agency's leader had not been told to abuse or beat him, nor to torture him - and it was something the bald thug appreciated. Although he was ashamed to admit it, there was something in that quiet leader who inspired him great respect._

“ _Father! Father!” A voice yelled. Konstantin turned. Two mercenaries ran to catch, among those waiting to be crucified, a young girl, barely sixteen, and dragged her to her cross. Her brother, seeing him, began to scream, but the guards held him._ “ _Oh Father!” Screamed the girl. “Help me!”_

_Konstantin’s eyes clouded. Everyone called him "father" from the day the Council elected him as the new Grand Master. But that appointment had never been made. And now he couldn't help her - he couldn't even help himself._

_She was nailed on the cross naked, and behind her so was her brother, and the rest of them. While watching that, he heard Eckhardt's voice:_ “ _I hope, Heissturm, your satisfaction is complete. You see, I've not neglected any of your own. I don't want you to feel alone when it came your turn.”_

_Gertrude then added:_ “ _They should be satisfied! They’re going to die the same way their God died.”_

_Karel smiled then. Konstantin crossed his glance with his. Sure, he knew it. The Lux Veritatis didn’t worship any God. It would have been foolish, huh, Konstantin? Only the founders of this city are gods!_

_When his turn came, the Lux Veritatis left them to nail him without fight. The nails through his wrists and ankles didn’t hurt him more than the defeat. From where he was, he could see the rest of his people. The first ones were already dead or unconscious. The rest lifted their desperate faces toward him._

_What could he say? What could comfort them now?_

_Eckhardt, Gunderson and Gertrude withdrew, while the mercenaries stood on guard. Only Karel remained in place, silent. After a while, he moved to the foot of the cross._

“ _Have you come to see me die?” Konstantin said calmly._

_Karel smiled again._ “ _I'm immune to hatred and rancour. I don’t hate you because your misfortune is my fortune, and you’ll die while I live. So I don’t care about what happens to you and yours.”_

_Moans and sobs could be heard along the way. One of the men closest to Karel began to squirm and insult him, but he kept looking at Konstantin._ “ _You must know you die because your son fled.” He continued. “He’s not like you. He's a coward. When he learned whom Gunderson serves, he immediately disappeared.”_

“ _I’d rather see him hiding in the skirts of a woman than serving the Cabal even for three seconds._ ”

_Karel twisted his smile when hearing Konstantin's answer. Nothing broke the unbreakable will of that man._

_For hours, the Nephilim stood patiently at the foot of the cross, while the rest of the Lux Veritatis were slowly dying. As expected, Konstantin was the last one to die._

“ _Will you say something about your son now?” Karel asked when seeing him choking. “Where is he? It’s to him you sent the other two Shards?”_

_The dying man opened his eyes, puffed out his chest one last time and whispered:_ “ _He will return and be your death.”_

_Air escaped from his lips and slowly relaxed until being immobile. Karel looked at him in silence, and then walked away._

 

* * *

 

“Marie!”

Flexible arms surrounded and separated her from the dirt on which she laid. How long had she been there at the foot of the great cross?

“Marie! For heaven's sake, how could you think to come here? The manticores are on the loose!” It was Lara who spoke, taking her by the shoulders.

“How did you find me?” Marie stammered, wiping the mud from her knees.

“There’s a terrible fire on the outside! Everything is burning, the necropolis, the putrid pit! The authorities have warned us and I came right away in case you were around...”

Marie smiled. “It was me. The camp had already burned, but I've destroyed those nasty mummies, that hideous beast. They disappeared. Let the wind take their ashes.”

Lara looked at her in pity - the poor woman was alienated. “Come on.” She urged then. “We must find Kurtis. Where did they release you? What path did they take?”

The British explorer helped the Navajo woman get up and surrounded her shoulders as she took her away from the crosses.

Marie looked back one last time. _Farewell, my love._


	28. The Island

Marcus became a pleasant company the first few days Kurtis spent in prison. They didn’t touch him yet - but no one went downstairs to leave food.

“They make you starve first.” The old man said. “And when you begin to find the leather of your boots appetizing, then they start.” He knew much of what was happening on the Island, almost everything, except the exact location of that lost rocky outcrop. Judging by the weather, in the Mediterranean...but the sea was vast.

On the evening of the second day – though they didn’t know for sure, for they were living in a permanent shadow, a storm broke. The thunder echoed in the cavern of the cliff, tearing the ears of the two prisoners, and after a while, the waves began to flood the cells, as Marcus had predicted. The cold and frothy water was rising...and when it reached the neck - Kurtis’ neck, since poor Marcus was floating long ago - they had to grab the top of the bars and fight against the tide and the weight of the chains, which threatened to drag them to the bottom. All the while the desperate struggle lasted - hours, maybe, Kurtis came to fear the water would completely cover them, but it didn’t.

“Nay!” Marcus said, spitting water after sinking and being rescued in a flip by Kurtis through the bars for the umpteenth time. “Those bastards have this well-timed! The water level won't rise anymore - and be grateful sharks can't pass through!”

Kurtis, who could feel the salty water in each of his wounds, had no time to worry about sharks. At least that excruciating pain meant cleansing.

Hours later, the water level fell and the tide retreated, leaving them soaked and shivering. Kurtis started to take off the wet bandages from his arms - he couldn’t resist the itching anymore. Some daylight was finally coming into the cells and Marcus stared at the horrible cuts.

“Oh my! How did you do that?”

“I was tied with wire strand and I freed myself.”

“Well, son, you're insane. You could have lost your arms - and you see, you've ended up here anyway...” The elder lowered his voice. “Yes, we've all ended up here.” Then sat in a corner of his cell, splashing on the wet floor, and began to scratch a wound near his shoulder.

Kurtis squinted through the dim light and noticed a strange mark on his shoulder. “What's that, old man? A tattoo?”

Marcus smiled and came over to show him. “There was a time when this was my whole life...now, it’s just a passport to my end.”

Kurtis looked back at that symbol, and then laughed softly. “No way!”

“What?”

The man looked up and pointed to the tattoo: _“L_ _uceat eais in materia virentis_...”

“... _Volare incipit ab initio ad scopus, maxima vires ad incrementum_.” Marcus finished, looking at him stunned, staring stupidly at Kurtis, who was still laughing.

“But...I thought I was the last one!” Marcus sputtered.

“So did I.” Kurtis calmly. “Healer or Fighter?”

“I’m a humble old Healer.” Marcus said, smiling at last.

The young man laughed. “Congrats. Seems you're the last after all. The last Healer.”

“So you're a Fighter. Holy Light! I've a Fighter in the cell next door -my prayers have been answered!”

“What?”

“You can get us out of here!”

Kurtis studied the old man's face, protruding forward between the bars. “Now _you’re_ the insane one, Marcus.”

“I think not! You can pop these bars, tear down that damn door there! We'd leave, son, we'd escape.”

Kurtis made a sneer. “And then where would we go? Assuming I could fight all those men, which I can't, then what? We jump into the sea, swim to nowhere?”

Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it. He was right - they were trapped, hopelessly trapped. “I'm just a Healer. I can’t see neither future nor past, I can't alter objects to my will. Only you Fighters could do that.”

_Dammit!_ Kurtis growled to himself. _Why he doesn't get it? It_ _’s useless! We got nothing. Always the same, fuck, with these damned Healers, believing we were superheroes or something like that just because we can...destroy what we like...and see things we can't understand._

“If we don’t escape,” Marcus insisted, “we’re lost. These people are mad...especially that blonde scientist. Scientist...ha! She's a psychopath. She makes savagery with people...with children. Some years ago, I heard she was the _purest_ of all of them...that she didn’t know what she did, that she wasn't like the others. But now she's worse than all put together! Sometimes I hear the mercenaries talking about her...yes, I've heard a lot...and that beast Schäffer...” He stopped - somewhere he heard a metallic ringing which became more strident. Marcus took a deep breath and continued: “Listen, I've spent many months here - but I wasn't alone at the beginning. They seized another Healer with me...we escaped Tenebra's slaughter - we didn’t fall into their nets. Obviously the Black Alchemist was fond of saying he'd crucified all of us...whatever. The other Healer was a young boy, who wouldn't reach his twenties. I don’t remember his name, poor boy...I'll tell you what they did to him to give you an idea of what awaits you."

“Why were you kept alive so long?” Kurtis interrupted.

“Oh...that was up to the...to the Lady. She wanted to see our powers. But we were soon disdained- _Nephili's_ healing powers are stronger, as you know.” Another metallic blow. Marcus shook. “They tortured me, but not for long - I'd have died. But he was young and endured. They made atrocities with him – specially that monstrous Schäffer. The doctor doesn't engage herself in torture - she lets him do it. It's like a bonus added to his salary. She just tortures her patients...but prisoners are for Schäffer. When the Lady got tired of us, we fell into the hands of Schäffer and his thugs. A savage...have you heard about the Throne?” He added suddenly.

Kurtis sighed. “Must be nothing cool.”

“It’s their electric chair. They call it the Throne, those bastards. They gave me a few jolts, but him, they almost killed him. They glued his eyelids to his eyebrows so he couldn’t sleep at night. I pulled the adhesive from his eyes - I earned a few beatings for that, but I couldn't see the poor boy like that...”

The metal hits accentuated. Kurtis tried to find out where they came from - they seemed to be over them.

“...and then they said, _Y_ _ou want him to sleep, oldster? Now he’ll sleep a lot..._ and stitched his eyelids. They didn’t put out his eyes to pierce them while sewing.”

Kurtis sharpened his hearing. Yes, no doubt - the blows were coming...

“Why they didn’t do that to me? There was no fun with an old man. They almost electrocuted him to death and then they mutilated him. They castrated him with scissors and...”

The door opened with a bang.

“Oh, no, this guy again.”  Marcus sighed, seeing Sciarra.

“I’ve been sent to announce you’re gonna have _some fun_.” The Italian said with a smile of happiness.

“Sit here, asshole.” Kurtis said, raising his middle finger.

There was a thud, like guffawing. Marcus was laughing.

Sciarra went to the bars. He brought a metal rod in hands - where the hell did he get it? So with that he'd been making that fuss. “Well, seems the bird chirps before hatching! I thought you were dumb. Piss me off and I’ll caress you with this.” And he brandished the bar.

Kurtis then heard footsteps - someone was going down. Several voices were heard. Ignoring Sciarra, Marcus crawled to touch the bars and hissed: “They’re coming for you! Good luck, son, but I've no hope. Maybe when you pass the first day, you'd agree to escape. Better to die than endure.”

Sciarra lashed at the bars by him and he had to withdraw. Kurtis was taken out the cell and he let himself be led quietly. The Italian followed them, with a look of pleasure on his face.

“May the Holy Light protect you.” Marcus muttered, and began to pray.

 

* * *

 

Marie blinked as sunlight hit her in the eyes. She looked at the charred remains of the camp and noticed a group of soldiers moving in the remaining pockets of flames while extinguishing them. One of them turned around and went towards them, wiping sweat from his smeared forehead. “Damn!” He exclaimed. “So you're the arsonist? What a miracle to have found you alive!”

The Navajo woman stared at him and turned her face away. 

“She’s not feeling well. We’ll talk later, Justin.” Lara apologized, then she took her to one of the Jeeps and sat there. “These you see are a British Army brigade.” The British explorer explained. “Justin and I were partners in an expedition some years ago and he owed me a favour. You see, we got some help. When we heard the sites of Cappadocia were on fire, we tried to come as soon as possible...you could've died down there!”

Marie touched her face and winced in pain. Her forehead and eyebrows were scorched - but she'd not even noticed until now. “Your friend Selma will be mad at me...I destroyed her life’s work...but I can't deal with this anymore, Lara...I can’t...this is the end.”

Lara frowned. “This will be the end _for them_ , anyway. You can’t give up now.”

Marie ducked her head and her face disappeared into the silver and dark locks of hair. “I was released on the coast. I don’t know where exactly. They took a ship. Lara, we've no idea where they went. We don’t know where they have taken him. We have no clue. We've lost him.”

But Lara smiled. “We still have the Shards - and they still want them. We can work with that. Listen to me: when I returned from India, I brought a teenager under my custody. They've kidnapped her, and surely they will ask an account for her. Justin and his men will help us. We also have Selma and Ivanoff, two very good thinking brains, and Zip’s ability to keep us connected. They won’t defeat us, Marie - and if they do, it wouldn’t be because we haven't fought.”

“Hey, Croft!”

She turned. Justin had returned. He was a man of medium height, dark haired, wearing a neatly trimmed moustache and a military uniform which didn't suit him very well, but no doubt he liked to wear like a second skin. Marie expected him to be reliable. “What do you want?” The man added, showing her two different rifles. “L85 or MP5?”

“L85.” Lara replied. Justin threw her the weapon and she caught it on the fly. She began to inspect the chamber and check the magazine.

“A-are we going into battle?” The old woman stammered.

Lara smiled again. “I'm not one to wait for luck. I make my own luck - and if this is the only language those bastards are willing to understand, so be it.”

 

* * *

 

“Lara.” Zip said, adjusting his headset. “Lara. Lara? You get me? Lara! Lar...!”

“Yes, yes! I got you!” He heard Lara answering. “Any news from there?”

Zip wiped the sweat from his brow. “Well, Vlad's sifting through his notes...but nothin’ about that freakin' Scepter yet. The Lux Veritatis files don’t talk about it...”

“Wait.” Selma said, picking up another handset. “Let me...Lara, you hear me? Yes? Look, if the Lux Veritatis knew something about the Scepter, and not what Monteleone told us about Van Der Brieck twins...that’s certainly not in anything held by Vlad - and he'd been gathering stuff for years. You don’t know the amount of information this man has here!”

“Means we need to look elsewhere, babe.” The hacker concluded.

Lara paused for a moment. Then she added: “Agreed. I think I know where to look. By the way, Marie's here with me.”

“Was she released? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, okay...we’re gonna hide the Shards in a safer place. I'll call you as soon as we know more. Meanwhile, we'll keep in touch. Perhaps there's something that may interest us, apart from the Scepter.” And she hung up.

Zip snorted and touched the table in search of gum. Not finding it - he'd chewed all of it - he grunted.

Ivanoff put his glasses on again and murmured: “I'm going back to the library. I'm sure something is beyond me...”

When he left, the boy stared at Selma with affection. “Frowning suits Lara, but makes you look ugly, princess.”

Selma sighed. “I'm worried about everyone. This...this is a nightmare. For me it started three years ago. For Marie, much earlier. And Kurtis has lived it all his life. When we thought it was over...God! Why so much hate? Why can these people never forgive, never forget? When will the killing stop? When wiping each other out?” She ducked her head and her soft and shiny hair slipped across her shoulder.

Zip had to force himself not to reach out to pet it. He then remembered Sciarra, who wanted to abuse her, and felt disgust and anger. “Lucky for us, we got Lara.” He said to distract her. “She’s tough and knows what to do. We’ll teach those bastards who rules here. And Kurt...well, he's a tough guy too.” He smiled. “You know? When I met him I thought he was a psycho. I thought he'd kill me. I later learned his Order required the elimination of witnesses to...prevent them from blabbin’ about seein’ chicks with snake hair in the sewers of New York.” He laughed. “But he didn’t kill me. He let me go. He said he was tired of killing.”

“Hope he’s not tired of living.” Selma murmured, closing her eyes.

 

* * *

 

The Turkish port of Cyprus was full of sunshine and scent of salt - a port which reminded of Syracuse. But the island on which Venus was born had a very different picture. There, the blow of Turkish-Greek war had left deep scars even in Greece and Turkey. The Cypriots hadn't overcome the horror, and even then, the island was still separated into two sectors, Turkish and Greek, divided by a high concrete wall, lined with strands of barbed wire and guarded by soldiers armed with machine guns. If someone got too close...goodbye.

Therefore, Maddalena, although she felt uncomfortable among Turks, wouldn't attempt to cross. She wouldn't risk her ass. She remained in the harbour, reviewing those documents suddenly interesting her.

Sitting in the sun with legs in the water, she went over the sheets. Her Latin was poor - the bit Monteleone had taught her - and it wouldn't let her to understand many things, like _Luceat eais_ and other phrases often repeated as if they were an invocation. Lux Veritatis' Latin writing was too complex for her.

The beautiful prostitute had already learned who the _Nephili_ were, and so the Lux Veritatis, the Periapt, the Scepter and more. Everything wouldn’t have been too far away from being the most delicious fairytale or the most terrible horror story, but deep down, she knew it was true. If Monteleone, Bathsheba and that British explorer had fight each other to know what was that...

Suddenly a shiver went down her spine. Monteleone, Bathsheba and Lara Croft _had fought each other for that!_ Those documents were more valuable than she first thought! And now, they were in a dirty Cyprus port, in the hands of a whore... She threw her head back and laughed. One of the sailors turned and pointed at her. Yes, better for her they thought she was insane - they would leave her alone.

Indeed, those documents were important. They contained ancient legends, terrible things. For long nights she had dreamt of warriors in shining armour who could move things with their mind, to heal wounds with their hands, to fight great powerful albino demons. She imagined glass spheres in the hands of elderly monks, transparent crystal daggers plunging into damned flesh...and she was the one who had the documents.

Maddalena put all of them in her bag and stood up. She'd come to Cyprus, but she didn’t know how to proceed. If she wanted to find Kurtis, or at least where Bathsheba and her people had gone, at least it was something to do. Perhaps she could set Kurtis free by exchanging him for those documents.

_Don’t be an idiot_ , she scolded herself, _you’re not born to be a hero. Use your head._

For days and weeks she wandered around the port, paying attention to each conversation. She didn’t understand Turkish but some people spoke in Italian and lots of English. But they were neither tourists nor the fishermen who provided the first clue to Maddalena, but the prostitutes.

There were several of them on that port and hadn’t welcomed the arrival of that lovely Italian. Her white skin, golden eyes, and over all, her flaming red hair were a threat to their dark bodies.

But there was one who appreciated her - a little, skinny girl, no more than eighteen, and with a glance, Maddalena knew that syphilis was eating her from the inside. Her name was Safie and the redhead used her affection to find out what she wanted.

They sat near the water when nobody was looking and then Safie began to play with her hair and look through it with the light, fascinated by its colour. “Is this you? Is it natural?” She mumbled with her poor English.

Maddalena smiled - everybody had always wondered that. “All my hair is red.” And laughed since it was obvious what she meant.

After many talks, when she thought she'd won her confidence, Maddalena risked to ask. At first, Safie glanced at her, distrustful, then she murmured: “A beautiful woman surrounded by soldiers? You’re the most beautiful woman I've ever seen since I got here...and I'm here since my elevens, when I ran away from home, leaving that pig of my father. But now that you mention it...a week ago there were a lot of soldiers around here.”

“How were they?” Asked Maddalena.

Safie's small sunken eyes narrowed. “They were...soldiers. I didn’t like them. Padme and I went to serve them - weren’t less gross than the port’s sailors but they paid well.”

“Did they speak any language?”

“Huh...a rare language. It seemed some kind of barking, much shhh...schfrrrr...”

_German. They spoke German_ , the redhead thought, shuddering.

“Others spoke Turkish, but it wasn't their language, it seemed. And now that you mention it...they arrived on a ship, yes...but left at dawn.”

“You know what tumble did they take?” Asked Maddalena, excited.

Safie looked at her a moment and then laughed. “Please Madda! I'm just a whore! How could I know!”

“Well, you get the customer drunk and make him talk. Who hasn't done that?”

The girl looked at her from the corner of her eye, suspicious, and then whispered: “I'm asking for trouble if I tell you. Yes, I know where they went. They come and go often. But only the prostitutes approach them, because we need to eat. If not, I'd rather have my father's fists and the breath of a drunk.”

“Why? Where do they go?”

Safie licked her thin lips and whispered: “To the Island.”


	29. Extortion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a screenshot of Lara Croft from the DVD Action Adventure version of Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness.

Daniele Monteleone sat down, satisfied, in the wide and comfortable sofa of his huge living room. It was nearly one o'clock and he'd bid farewell to all his men to meditate awhile in silence as usual. He'd also bid farewell to his wife, his eight children and his grandchildren, in a long and complicated hand-kissing ceremony more akin to a royal family. His eyes had fallen in love with the youngest of his granddaughters, Agata, who at her five years wasn't yet aware of which family she was born into and the dark future awaiting her.

He reclined on the couch while he passed his finger along the gums emptied by Kurtis’ punch. Seven teeth were broken, chipped, and one knocked loose. If the American hadn't already been doomed, the Sicilian _capo_ would've given him an exemplary punishment.

So focused was the Italian in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the furtive shadow that suddenly took shape in the silky curtain of his window. By the time he sat up, alarmed, Lara Croft was out of the darkness, pointing a gun at him, smiling and moving quietly. “Don't move.” She commanded. “Get that gun I know you have in the lining of your jacket out and leave it on the table. If I remember well, you didn’t want to waste any more silver bullets on my filthy person. Let’s honour that decision.”

With clenched teeth, the _capo_ obeyed, though he said: “I've two men watching out there...”

“Oh, those? You can hire funeral services for them now.” The woman leaned over, took the pistol from the table and hooked it in the belt of her jeans, while looking at him wryly. “What's wrong, Monteleone? Looks like you've seen a ghost. By the way, I notice something's missing, where's your ever-present Martini?”

“I don’t drink at this time of night.” He replied hoarsely, lisping because of the lack of teeth. “How the hell...?”

“...Did I survive? Well, you said it yourself - I’m strong, and proud, and I also consider myself very clever. The first one helps me survive, the second one prevents someone like you from pissing me off, and the third one helps me get what I want. Now you’ll tell me about the documents.”

“Which documents?” Sputtered Monteleone.

“Your uncle the cardinal’s ones. You showed me the most irrelevant of them, I suspect, and saved the best part for yourself. Give me those documents and perhaps I’ll turn a blind eye and I’ll leave without killing you, although that’s the least you deserve right now.”

Monteleone coughed, and tried to loosen his collar. “You're late, darling. I don’t have those documents anymore.”

A shot rang out - muffled by a silencer and a bullet hit the velvet gorse wood chair, right next to the _mafioso_ 's head, exploding in a cloud of foam and splinters. Monteleone shrank like a frightened rabbit.

“Don’t piss me off, Daniele.”

“I'm telling the truth! I don’t have them anymore. They’ve been stolen! That whore Maddalena has them. A few days ago she disappeared from my camp and she took my documents. I've men still searching for her, but nothing at the moment.”

Lara laughed. “So that's your faithful concubine. I feel sorry for you, Monteleone. The problem is now I've no reason to spare your life.”

The other set his few teeth and hissed: “If you kill me, my men and my family are bound by a blood oath to avenge my death, by giving their life if required. They will chase you and kill you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that a hundred thousand times. I’ve fought the Italian mafia before...and also the Chinese, Japanese, Russian and all the gangs you may say. You can’t scare me with that, Monteleone. In any case, it’s useless to threaten me if you're dead within three seconds - unless you offer me a minimal compensation.”

The _capo_ had begun to sweat. He took a silk handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his neck and muttered: “My uncle, Cardinal Ercole Monteleone, knows by heart the content of these documents. He's studied them all his life, from his youth. No portion or paragraph, no matter how old, he’s unable to remember precisely. He currently resides in the Vatican, although his health hasn’t allowed him to exercise his duties objectively, but the new pope has appreciation for his services rendered in the past, and therefore grants him the same rights and honours as that of an active cardinal.” He stared at her and added: “If you want to know about these files, go to him. I just got to translate a part and not much else, so he's your man.”

Lara nodded. “Well, well.” She admitted. “It’s the first time you behave properly. All this without wasting formalities and manners. And therefore...”

“...and therefore you're not going to kill me.”

A charming smile crossed the woman’s face. “When did we come to that agreement?” She said, raising her weapon.

Shrieking, Monteleone jumped off the couch and pounced on her. His reaction caught her off guard and knocked her on the floor. The gun flew from her hand and suddenly a punch in her stomach made her bend in half. She pulled the man off herself with a kick and rolled to the side, recovering the gun.

Again he threw himself on her and grabbed her hair. With a nudge, she shook him off, but was brutally pushed against the wall. Her head was buzzing and felt a warm thread of blood running down from the corner of her lip.

Shocked, she saw Monteleone crawling to a wall and releasing a weapon from it. Lara felt the world spinning around when seeing it was Kurtis’ Boran X, which she could've recognized out of all the guns in the world. A glance was enough for her to see, hooked to the side, the Chirugai. “Bastard!” She gurgled in the blood filling her mouth. “Thief! That's not yours!”

“Well, that was unexpected.” Monteleone smiled. “Lara Croft, the plundering par excellence, calls me a thief. Come on, _signorina_ , this is not a robbery. I saw your dear friend parking his motorcycle in front of the excavation entrance shortly after you disappeared. So I hastened to report to Bathsheba he was there, and I even offered to capture him myself and deliver him to her...”

“Bastard!” Lara repeated, advancing towards him.

“...but of course she wanted to do it alone. I can’t imagine how she did it, so delicate as she is and so brutish as he is, but anyway, not my business. So, then I asked for some compensation and she said to me, _You can have his weapons_. And I really appreciated that! The gun's beautiful, right? But I don’t know what the hell that disc is…”

Lara threw herself head-first into him and they re-rolled on the ground. Monteleone shot but only managed to blow up glass fragments and lamps. The Boran was a noisy weapon and surely they had already been heard by someone.

She began to struggle while Monteleone was still emptying the magazine. The noise was horrible. Finally, Lara dug her knee into his crotch and got the Boran in hand, while the man was writhing in pain on the floor.

Like a shot, Lara ran towards the Chirugai, unhooked it from the wall and set it to her belt, retrieved her own gun and kept the Boran. “Y'know what?” She said, turning to the Italian, who was on the floor. “I never swallowed your shtick of courtesy and kindness. You’re pathetic.”

“Already noticed that - you’re also bad at pretending.” And suddenly, he arose and threw himself back on her, but it wasn't enough. Lara shot, striking him in the forehead. He collapsed on the spot.

“Good riddance, maggot.” She hissed, and then hastened to jump out the window. She already could hear his men shouting and the barking of their hounds.

 

* * *

 

Maddalena felt it would be useless to do that. She couldn’t...she couldn't!

She walked with her heart stuck in her throat to the gangway of the ship anchored in the harbour. There were those men whom Safie had spoken, carrying goods. “They come to load and unload, and hire us.” The little prostitute had told her. “Sometimes people are taken - I've seen them. They catch the unwary and they drag them away. And sometimes they accept volunteers. But they never return. We believe they’re killed. At that Island a hidden terror dwells. None of those who leave, voluntarily or not, return. Only those soldiers. Never go to the port where their ship is at anchor, Madda. Never.”

But Maddalena had nothing else to do at the Turkish port of Cyprus. She neither wanted to stay there nor go back. In either of these two cases, Monteleone could find her. There was only one option: to go forward.

She walked with trembling steps towards the group of soldiers guarding access to the ship. She had taken care for not being recognized, at last, after all, Schäffer had seen her when he negotiated with Monteleone  the release of Sciarra, and of course, he was now with them. So the woman who appeared before them seemed more a helpless pretty girl than a prostitute. Leaving behind the sexy dresses Monteleone had given her – anyway, they weren't appropriate, going by the sad rags worn by most of the Turkish prostitutes. She'd chosen to wear jeans with a simple loose sweater to hide the beautiful curves which made her so desirable. She'd cut her opulent hair up to her shoulders and had tied it in a bun. That, along with the complete lack of make-up, made her still a pretty woman, but far from looking like a prostitute. Therefore, the group of three mercs who saw her arrive didn’t consider her as such. “Well, well, what a cute girl!” Said one. “What’s a beautiful redhead like you doing in a place as dirty as this?”

“I want to go on that ship.” She said.

The mercs looked at each other and suddenly burst into laughter. “She wants to go on that ship! She wants to go on that ship! Let's see, how useful could a beauty like you be in the horrible place we’re going?”

“C'mon, shut up, Martin.” Said another one, and turned towards her. “I guess you come as a volunteer. Have you some knowledge about science or health care?”

Maddalena's mind worked at the speed of light. Science? Health care? Of course, it suited her well! “I’m an emergency medical assistant.” She blatantly lied. “I think my services could be helpful.”

The merc looked her up and down. “Look, Martin! You think she's what she says?”

“Maybe. The doctor is always interested in having new volunteers. Also, a pretty girl will appease her patients. Okay, beauty, what's in that bag?”

_The documents_ , thought Maddalena, terrified. She pulled the strap of the bag tightly and flushed so the men laughed.

“Look at that! C'mon, let’s not pick at her underwear. We may be some animals, but we don’t play with decent people. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Giulia Manfredi.” She quickly answered, and then she thought: _God, I can’t believe it...I'm using my real name!_ That cheered her.

“Italian, huh? Okay, you can pass.” And they departed from the ramp, clearing her way.

Maddalena came to the deck and looked at the mercs loading goods into the boat. Those packages seemed more than suspicious - she didn’t recognize the symbols, but that was probably hazardous material.

So they needed both nurses and scientists. She didn’t know whether to feel imprisoned or feel like she'd just made the play of her life. Whatever it was, in all likelihood, would lead her to Kurtis.

Her heart began to beat faster.

 

* * *

 

“Son...boy, are you okay?” Marcus tried to touch Kurtis through the bars, but he'd been thrown at the other end of his cell, so the old man's trembling arm couldn’t reach him - and it was so dark he couldn’t see anything. He just knew he wasn't moving. He wasn't moving at all. But if he were dead, they wouldn’t have left him there again. _Moreover_ , reasoned the elder, _he can’t be dead. This one can endure so much. So much._ “Kurtis...” He tried again. “Kurtis, son, can you hear me?”

Nothing. Marcus wondered if he was unconscious, in shock or even comatose. _Bastards_ , the old man gritted between his teeth, _damned bloody bastards_.

He crawled to the bars and hugged his knees, willing to wait until his cellmate recovered - if he recovered. But he was a Fighter, right? They were roughly treated when trained in the Order. Yes, he'd recover.

A mild, sweet scent reached his nostrils - and it wasn't normal. The cell stunk, especially of moisture and salty sea water. It also smelled of decay, pus from wounds and excrements. It smelled of rust and enslavement, and the air was thick and hot, but when the tide was rising, the cold permeated his bones. Marcus wondered how he could be still alive in that filthy den.

The smell intensified and then the old man glimpsed a clear light. He smiled. “So here you are, Lady. You come to behold your enemy’s suffering and defeat?”

He saw Bathsheba in Kurtis’ cell, leaning over his motionless body. Now the woman's body seemed to shine - hell, the _Nephili_ were also errant lamps? He could see Kurtis, lying naked face down, with strange burns on the back of the arms, legs and neck. The Throne’s marks.

Bathsheba put two fingers in Kurtis’ throat and muttered: “His pulse is very weak. They had no mercy with him.”

“What you’re pretending, Lady? You weren’t present enjoying the show?”

The woman turned towards him. She smiled sadly. “No I wasn’t present, no desire to be. Unlike you mortals, my people never enjoyed others' suffering.” She unleashed her dark cloak from around her shoulders and covered Kurtis with it. Then she went through the bars as if they were made of air and entered Marcus’ cell.

He didn't move, but looked at her askance. “You don’t enjoy others’ suffering, that’s true - but you do something much worse. You’re _indifferent_ to others’ suffering. You’re indifferent to everything: joy, pain, love, hate, all the feelings humans can experience. And as you all are indifferent, you're guiltier and holders of greater cruelty. Your indifference is to blame for the suffering of this man. Although you haven’t hurt him, your indifference will cause his death. I know you could save him, save us all, since nobody in this Island has power over you - but as you’re indifferent, we’ll all die.”

Bathsheba looked calm. She was no longer smiling.

“Why did you come then, my Lady? To make fun of this poor old man, of this unfortunate, who’s going to be smashed like that poor kid?”

“I come to hear your poems, Marcus.” She said.

For months, Bathsheba had gone down to the cell to talk with Marcus. There was something in that old man, in his acid sarcasm, which amused her. At first she'd received insults and thrown stones from him. When they killed that boy, the other Healer, he went berserk and tried to attack her repeatedly. But over time Marcus was resigned to be visited by her. At the end of the day, when she was there, her fragrance covered the stifling stench of the prison, and her beauty made him forget the horror around him. Although she was his ancestral enemy, Marcus had to tolerate her presence.

To amuse her, the old Healer, who was fond of literature, dedicated poems to her in which he both praised her and also criticized her severely. Bathsheba caught that two-way meaning and had fun with it. The sooner he'd make her angry, the sooner she would go, so Marcus worked in them.

“You want a poem? Well, I've one which suits you perfectly, my Lady. It’s _Beauty_ , by Charles Baudelaire, from his beautiful play _The Flowers of Evil.”_ And he recited off by heart:

 

_I am fair, O mortals! like a dream carved in stone,_

_And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself_

_Is made to inspire in the poet a love_

_As eternal and silent as matter._

 

_On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx,_

_I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans;_

_I hate movement for it displaces lines,_

_And never do I weep and never do I laugh._

 

_Poets, before my grandiose poses,_

_Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues,_

_Will consume their lives in austere study;_

 

_For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,_

_Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:_

_My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!_

 

Bathsheba laughed. “Today you’ve been particularly delicate, Marcus. I don’t know whether to take this poem as a compliment or a criticism.”

“Take it as you like, Lady.” Grumbled the old man under his breath. “But go away and leave us alone.”

The beautiful lady turned and again passed through the bars. Her beautiful body began to fade with the darkness of the cell. “Why don’t you think you’re still alive just because you amuse me with beautiful words?”

When her scent disappeared moments later, Kurtis began to regain consciousness, slowly and laboriously.

 

* * *

 

“You sure about this?” Father Dunstan whispered, hesitantly, as they crossed the vast St. Peter's Square.

“Of course.” Lara said, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of the nose.

“But...Lara, we can’t threaten a cardinal of the Holy See...”

“Hush. Trust me.”

Having "settled" the problems with Monteleone, Lara had gone to Rome with the intention of meeting the _mafioso_ ’s uncle. _And probably another mafioso again, despite his cassock_ , she thought.

However, although she'd excellent relations with the Holy See because of numerous services provided in the past, Lara had no desire to be recognized this time. Furthermore, those favours had been with the previous pope. She didn’t know how Ratzinger would take her presence there.

Therefore, she'd requested Dunstan's presence, who besides being a Catholic priest allowed her for wandering freely by the Vatican. Of course, Lara decided to pose as a "devoted companion" of the father...hence the horrible puff-sleeved blouse, a plaid skirt that reached to her ankles, her hair tightly in a bun at the nape and huge old glasses.

Of course, they had to pass through the control of the Swiss Guard. One of the men in their colourful uniforms questioned them shortly after they exceeded the threshold that limited the access of tourists.

“We've an audience with Cardinal Ercole Monteleone.” Dunstan announced solemnly, feeling this lie should be severely purged. “I’m Father Abraham Patrick Dunstan, from Ireland.”

“And this woman?” Asked the guard, nailing a suspicious look at Lara, who'd chaste eyes directed towards the ground.

“She’s a secular virgin who helps me in my work, rendering outstanding service to the cause of Christ.”

The guard raised his eyebrows and let them pass, but they sent a guard around them as they walked through the beautiful blocks of buildings surrounded by gardens - the dependencies of the cardinals.

“Cardinal Monteleone's old and sick.” The guard said when they reached the cardinal's waiting room. “Please be brief and don't distress His Illustrious.” And he opened the door, revealing a wonderful room lined with expensive fabrics and velvets, gold chandeliers and works of art decorating walls and corners.

_A vulture’s home_ , Lara thought with a shudder.

Sitting in a vast chair, a thin and bent old man whose wrinkles testified a long passage through this world, looked at them with sharp little eyes through round glasses. He was wrapped in cardinal purple and caressed the edge of a tea cup he had on a nearby table. Lara smiled, wondering why she'd expected him to have a Martini instead of a tea cup.

The door closed and they were left alone with the Cardinal. Dunstan stood guarding the door as she'd told him, so Lara moved to sit on a chair in front of the elder.

“Well?” Monteleone cleared his throat with a hoarse voice. “What insult is this? You know you’re not allowed to meet me. If I've you let in here is because I was curious about what some bold, insolent persons might want.”

Lara pushed her glasses to sit on the top of her head as she watched him with suspicion. “Cardinal, better not beat about the bush: we've come to talk about the documents you gave to your nephew Daniele.”

The old man paled and stared into her eyes, hard and inquisitive. “You're not a secular virgin, right? And that man's not a priest!”

“Father Dunstan has been a priest since long before I was born.” Lara smiled. “I can't say the same about the first part of your ask.”

Monteleone was rocked in his chair. “Get out of here immediately! You've sinned!”

“We won’t leave, Ercole...may I call you Ercole? It bores me always repeating the same surname.” Lara leaned towards the old man and in doing so, a few strands of hair released from her bun. “You delivered to your nephew Daniele some documents...ancient manuscripts of the Middle Ages, handwritten papers by several knights of the Order Lux Veritatis...documents saying something important about artefacts known as the Periapt and Lilith’s Scepter...”

The old man hissed, as if the name of the goddess would've pierced his chest like a hot iron.

“.. you stole them from the Vatican Library...and gave them to your nephew...am I wrong?”

“Worthless papers!” Gasped the old man. “No one's interested in those fantastic and absurd stories! Nobody believes in that anymore!”

“Well, your nephew told me you passionately studied them for years and now you'd be able to recite them by heart...isn’t that right?”

Violent coughs made the cardinal bend over and get a flushed face. Dunstan went two steps forward, worried, but Lara made him a gesture with her hand, ordering him to stop.

“You've nothing to do here!” The old man cleared his throat as he could speak. “These files are a up to the Holy See and its members! Why did you come here, slave of Satan?”

“To make you tell me everything about those documents. Many people’s lives, but especially an innocent man’s life, depend on what you reveal to me now.”

“Never!” Choked the old man. “Get out of here, you harlot! Go atone for your pride!”

Lara jumped from her seat with a terrible expression on her face. For a moment Dunstan feared she was about to strike the old man, but suddenly she pivoted on her heels and ran swiftly towards the door. “Okay, Ercole.” She hissed. “You asked for it.”

“What will you do?” The cardinal jumped when her hand touched the knob.

Lara turned, her eyes sparkling. “I'll now request an audience with His Holiness Benedict XVI. Although he's been Pope since a very short time, he certainly will remember the great affection his predecessor, John Paul II, had towards the British explorer Lady Lara Croft, who so many valuable artefacts and fine arts she recovered for him and for the Vatican. For I am that woman!”

“Lara...” Dunstan murmured in a choked voice.

She didn't listen and kept saying: “I'm going now to tell the Pope that one of his cardinals has contacts with the Sicilian Mafia and has been plundering the Vatican Library for years and delivering confidential archives and manuscripts of great value to a bunch of thugs and murderers! That these files, because of your corruption and incompetence, Ercole, now are in the hands of an Italian prostitute lost in the vastness of the Mediterranean! Do you think the Holy Father will be interested in hearing that? I do!”

There was silence. The Cardinal seemed close to having a heart attack, according his flushed face. He put his hand on his chest in a gesture of pain. But at the very moment Lara clutched the knob and spun it, he croaked: _“No!_ Okay, you win, hag! You’re a wicked woman, no doubt inspired by Satan.”

Lara dropped the knob and turned slowly towards him. “There are lives at stake, as I told you.” She said, recovering her manners. “As you’ll understand, I can’t afford being a good Christian right now.”

The cardinal snorted and reached out a trembling hand to the tea cup. Dunstan, scarlet red, ran towards him and handed him the cup.

“What do you know about the Lux Veritatis?” The cardinal asked then, after taking a long sip.

“I’m the one asking the questions.” Lara sat again. “You should assume I know absolutely everything about the Order.”

Ercole Monteleone shook his head and chuckled. “No, woman, you wouldn't know everything about them even if you were born in that Order and lived with them until the end of their days. I studied for years this wonderful community and I still don’t know enough...I, who am - and I can guarantee it, the most knowledgeable man in this Order alive right now...except for the members themselves, of course.” He took another sip and sighed: “You told me there are lives at stake. I don’t know what you’re speaking about.”

“Innocent people are going to be butchered. That should be enough.”

The old man began to twist his knuckles and then whispered: “Just tell me one thing...has the Scepter been found?”

“Yes, and I can tell you it’s in the wrong hands.”

Monteleone groaned and shook his head. “Bad news...you see, I found these files as a bishop, long ago. I loved the history of the Order and took it seriously. For years I devoted my life to try to find even just one member of the Lux Veritatis...but if I met one, I never knew. They protected themselves fiercely, as if wishing to be invisible. Then I learned what a terrible threat was the existence of the Black Alchemist, a man of wicked heart and unnatural longevity. But even more my soul was shaken when I heard the worst threat: the _Nephili_...and their poisonous Mother, the impure Lilith.” He paused and sighed again. He seemed to have aged many years in a few seconds. “What do you know, Lara Croft? What can tell you this old man?”

“Tell me about Lilith and the Scepter, specially. For what purpose could my enemies want it?”

The cardinal arranged the folds of his robe and declared: “The Scepter's a weapon of great evil and power. According to the legend, Lilith, who gave birth to the High Breed of _Nephili_ , conceived them with the seed of Lucifer; then came into dispute with her Children and fell out with them. The reasons aren't known, but apparently these damned committed the sin of pride against their Mother, who enraged, created a terrible weapon that could lead them to victory...or destroy them.” He licked his lips as he reflected and said: “For centuries, the Orthodox monks of Meteora’s Greek community kept a carved spherical object known as the Periapt. An arcane object, delivered by the angels it’s said, which had reflected as if by magic, one after another, all the symbols of Christian and pagan cults that have existed on Earth. Lilith stole the Periapt and destroyed it, dividing it into four Shards.”

“But the Periapt's indestructible.” Lara objected.

The cardinal laughed dryly. “For the divinity of the Underworld nothing is indestructible. She can wipe out life from the face of the Earth with one blow of Her hand. She broke the Periapt and divided it into four pieces, then she regenerated it and made it indestructible for every mortal and immortal...except for Her. And then, with these four Shards which also became indestructible, she carved three daggers and a stick coated with silver.”

Lara looked at him, speechless. Then she gasped in surprise: “The three Periapt Shards and the Scepter! Then She was their maker...but it makes no sense!”

“Yes, it does. Lilith's cunning and cruel. She's a mother but she has no motherly feelings. She hates Her children almost as much as She loved them before, and when they disappointed Her, she devised a punishment without limits.” The old man's eyes were covered with a sarcastic shadow. “Do you understand this, woman? The Scepter's a device capable of controlling all the demons of the Earth. Who possesses it will have the power to dominate the will of those creatures. It has other properties, such as opening people's hearts and mixing dreams to cause both good and evil to who dares touch it, but its greatest power is this: with the Scepter in your hands, you can control the armies of Hell.”

“Sounds like a horror movie.” Hissed Lara.

The cardinal shrugged. “You can believe it or not. But this is it. She handed the Scepter to Her children, and from that time they were the most powerful immortals and demons were subjected to their yoke. But they didn’t suspect that the wily Lilith had created three daggers which, wielded by a Lux Veritatis, would kill any Nephilim put in front of them. And, not content with Her cruelty, She gave these Shards in person to the Order.” He bent and started laughing, as if that was funny. “It's so typical!” He guffawed. “What do they know, those infernal beings, about God's love? She’s cruel and cunning so, at the same time She gave them the greatest gift, She condemned them to the worst curse. Having angered their Mother, She gave to their enemies the weapons that could destroy them. It's so typical!”

He went on laughing while Lara was thinking fast.

“So with the Scepter, you can master the demons...and of course, the Shards are still able to kill a Nephilim.”

“No! Only if it’s wielded by a warrior of the Light!” The elder croaked. “And there are no Warriors of the Light left...alas, no longer are!”

Lara frowned and hissed: “That's what you think, old man. The Order hasn't entirely disappeared, nor their ancestral enemies.”

“Tell me what you know!” The cardinal gasped, staring at her wide-eyed. “The Scepter has been found! Who found it? Was my beloved nephew, to whom I delivered the documents to ease his search?”

“It was me.” Lara sentenced. “But it was stolen and now they’re trying to steal the Shards also. You know anything more?”

“Who stole it? Who!” The cardinal was increasingly upset.

Dunstan peered down the hall, fearing  the old man's screams attracted the Swiss Guard.

“Who stole it from me is a female Nephilim creature. Two years ago, I believed I'd wiped out the last of her kin, but seems they were able to breed...and finally, now that creature's old enough to fight us. She has the Periapt and the Scepter...and now she wants the Shards, which are in my possession. They’re also destroying the last Lux Veritatis...so that their revenge is complete.” Lara took a deep breath after releasing all those words. She needed to control herself. She shouldn’t show how much pain it was causing to her saying that. _Kurtis._ “Can you tell me what this creature’s plotting, Ercole? Something written in your documents?”

The cardinal had been thoughtful. “No...and yes. Anyway...seems like the Scepter will grant her mastery of all demons. It's also clear she seeks to kill the only one on Earth that could defeat her. But she also wants the Shards...perhaps to destroy them.”

Lara sighed wearily. “The Shards can't be destroyed...”

“Yes, they can! _She can destroy them!_ The One that created them can also destroy them!”

Dunstan coughed politely. “Excuse me, Your Illustrious; I'm just an ignorant priest who, however, has had contact with some of those...infernal beings. The creature, of which you speak, Lilith, is probably only a mythological character. The proof is the many faces we have from her. To our Christian tradition, she was the first wife of Adam, who was doomed because of her rebellion with Lucifer and as they fell into Hell, she became a devil with him. But to the ancient Babylonian civilization, she was a goddess of great power, not necessarily related to Evil, but...just as dangerous. She’s likely only a myth.”

The cardinal smiled and looked at Lara. “A myth? Do you think that, woman explorer? I see the truth in your eyes. If your eyes have behold the immortal Periapt, you know it’s impossible to break. How it can’t remain broken for longer than a sigh...is it that a myth? Did you see that magic? If that magic's real...the Witch who created it is real too!”

Dunstan paused, frowning. Lara shook her head and said: “You mean...it’s possible this Nephilim's trying to reunite with her Mother to make Her to destroy the artefacts?”

“And with that, to erase her last chance of death.” Hissed the cardinal. “When all them had been destroyed...she will be fully immortal. The most powerful force on Earth couldn’t stop her.”

Dunstan returned to hawking. “I think you're rambling. Even if all that were true, is not that Mother angry with Her children? Why then would She do her this favour?”

“She was angry centuries ago. Since then, She's slept in the darkness of Her abode. We don't know what’s in Her mind now.”

Lara shook her head and said: “I think this is missing something. Too complex. Should I consider Lilith as a real person living in a real place? Where then dwells this goddess of darkness?”

Ercole Monteleone's eyes narrowed. “I'll tell you...it was also mentioned in the documents.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem “Beauty” by Baudelaire has been extracted from: William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954.


	30. The Ritual

Thick coils of incense arose in the air. In front of Bathsheba, red candles were burning and giving her pale skin a golden hue. She was alone in the darkness of her room, calm and quiet. She'd stripped off her clothes and her hair was loose, to reveal herself to her Divine Mother as she'd been born, naked and vulnerable. She walked calmly up to enter the circle of blood - her own blood, shiny and silver, drawn on the ground.

The Nephilim dropped to one knee in the middle of the magic circle and clasped her hands in prayer, while her long hair spilled over her bare shoulders and covered her slender and delicate body. The sticks of incense and burning candles weren't enough to warm it up, but she never felt cold nor heat.

In her right hand she was holding a sharp knife - the knife of sacrifice that proved her immortality two years ago - Gertrude’s dagger - and with her left hand she touched her heart, beating fast under her small breast. She closed her eyes, and when her mind was free from all thought, with melodious voice she intoned the prayer Gertrude had taught her. The Invocation of Lilith.

 

_Listen,_ _Mother_ _Lilith._ _To_ _you_ _I_ _speak._

_You_ _who_ _dwell_ _in_ _dark_ _abode,_ _have_ _mercy_ _on_ _your_ _daughter._

_You_ _who_ _breathe_ _sulphur_ _,_ _have_ _mercy_ _on_ _your_ _daughter._

_You_ _whose_ _beauty_ _is_ _more_ _radiant_ _than_ _the_ _Sun_ _and_ _more_ _mysterious_ _than_ _the_ _Moon,_ _have_ _mercy_ _on_ _your_ _daughter._

_You,_ _whose_ _heart_ _breeds_ _the_ _immortal,_ _whose_ _hands_ _crush_ _the_ _mortal,_ _have_ _mercy_ _on_ _your_ _daughter._

_You,_ _whose_ _lips_ _drip_ _blood_ _of_ _the_ _enemy,_ _have_ _mercy_ _on_ _your_ _daughter._

_You who are_ _the_ _Beginning_ _and_ _the_ _End_ _of_ _all_ _life,_ _have_ _mercy_ _on_ _your_ _daughter._

 

_Listen,_ _Mother_ _Lilith._ _To_ _you_ _I_ _speak._

_Oh,_ _Princess_ _of_ _Bulinka,_ _listen_ _to_ _the_ _call_ _of_ _your_ _daughter._

_Oh,_ _Venus_ _Illegitima,_ _listen_ _to_ _the_ _call_ _of_ _your_ _daughter._

_Oh,_ _Wife_ _of_ _Samael,_ _listen_ _to_ _the_ _call_ _of_ _your_ _daughter._

_Oh,_ _you,_ _who_ _were_ _the_ _First_ _Born,_ _listen_ _to_ _the_ _call_ _of_ _your_ _daughter._

_Oh,_ _you_ _who_ _Make_ _Yourself,_ _listen_ _to_ _the_ _call_ _of_ _your_ _daughter._

_Oh,_ _you,_ _Mother_ _of_ _All_ _Us,_ _listen_ _to_ _the_ _call_ _from_ _your_ _daughter._

 

_Angel_ _of_ _Darkness._

_Queen_ _of_ _the_ _Vortex._

_Lady_ _of_ _the_ _Beasts._

_Beautiful_ _as_ _the_ _sea,_ _strong_ _as_ _the_ _foundations_ _of_ _the_ _Earth._

_Look_ _not_ _upon_ _my_ _pride;_ _look_ _not_ _on_ _my_ _lack_ _of_ _faith._

_Come_ _to_ _me_ _now,_ _as_ _I_ _invoke_ _you._

_Listen,_ _Mother_ _Lilith_ _..._ _to_ _you_ _I_ _speak!_

 

The moment the litany ended, Bathsheba lowered the blade with decision and made a cut between her breasts down to the navel, and then the knife slipped from her fingers as she bent in two, gasping in pain.

The cut wasn't deep, but bled profusely, with a bright jet splashing the centre of the circle. A strange drowsiness came over her and she was about to fall on the pool of her own blood, but then she noticed the wound was closing and she regained her strength.

But she hadn't the courage to stand up. She stood there, bent, trembling with a sense she'd never experienced before: fear. There was someone else there... with her.

The Nephilim sensed a presence in front of her, on the edge of the circle. She stood with her head stuck in the ground, shaking, while in her hair the blood dried. And suddenly, a multiple voice seemed to arise from several hundred mouths at once and spoke: _You_ _called_ _me,_ _Child._ _Here_ _I_ _am._

Bathsheba felt the fear that gripped her coiling around her throat like a bunch of thorns. Cold fingers grabbed her chin and forced her to raise her head, and then her eyes beheld the Great Goddess, her Mother.

Lilith's appearance was sweet and terrible at once. She looked like a tall woman - much taller than her, if that was possible, whose albino hair reached to the floor. She'd the delicious body of an angelic virgin, with full breasts and narrow hips, in whose gentle curves little snakes were coiling this way and that, and there wasn't a single tuft of hair on all her glowing skin. The fingers that held Bathsheba’s chin seemed like knives, but held her with affection. Nearly transparent wings unfolded behind her, and her eyes caused more terror than anything else, because they were white as if blind, but there was no doubt she saw perfectly... and yet was so beautiful Bathsheba felt tears sliding down her cheeks... she who'd never cried before.

_Don_ _’_ _t_ _fear_ _me,_ _Child._ _What_ _you_ _see_ _is_ _just_ _an_ _image_ _I_ _can_ _move_ _to_ _this_ _place_ _to_ _answer_ _your_ _call_. _From_ _many_ _centuries_ _I've_ _dwelt_ _in_ _the_ _depths_ _of_ _the_ _Vortex_ _and_ _my_ _sweet_ _slumber_ _doesn_ _’_ _t_ _prevent_ _me_ _from_ _meeting_ _the_ _demands_ _of_ _my_ _devotees._ _Don_ _’_ _t_ _fear_ _me,_ _then._

Bathsheba nodded weakly and She let her go. Her slender body shone with a stronger light she could never reflect... and devoured the darkness of the room.

_Now_ , the goddess looked around, and her beautiful face was distorted into a terrible grimace. _Where_ _is_ _she?_ she hissed with that multiple voice. _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _see_ _my_ _beloved_ _Priestess._ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _see_ _Gertrude._ _Where_ _has_ _she_ _gone?_

The Nephilim shivered. “She died, Mother. She was poisoned by... by my mortal mother, Giselle Boaz, who hated her.”

There was a sharp hiss, as if thousands of snakes hissed at once, and Bathsheba saw two fangs hovering from behind the pale lips of the goddess. _How_ _dare_ _she!_ _She_ _will_ _pay_ _dearly_ _for_ _the_ _murder._ _Gertrude_ _was_ _loved_ _by_ _me_ _as_ _if_ _she_ _were_ _an_ _Immortal_ _Child._ _She_ _was_ _a_ _faithful_ _and_ _good_ _Priestess._ _She_ _will_ _pay_ _for_ _what_ _she_ _has_ _done!_ Her angelic transparent eyes then turned towards her. _Why_ _did_ _you_ _call_ _Me_ _then,_ _Child?_ _What_ _do_ _you_ _ask_ _of_ _Me?_

The beauty swallowed and tried to keep her voice calm. “I've seen over time and space, and I've exceeded a knowledge few mortals master today. I know Your divine wrath took my siblings to destruction, but Your unworthy daughter hopes You will want to soften Your Dark Heart... for I am the only one left... and restore the peace You snatched from my predecessors. I've in my power Your Holy Immortal Scepter and the Periapt... and getting the Shards will be a matter of time. I beg You, Mother, to destroy them so nothing can hurt me... and I swear by the blood I poured in Your honour to devote the rest of my immortality to serve You and do what may be Your Holy Will.” With a shudder, Bathsheba touched her forehead to the ground and spread her two hands out to reach the smooth, cold feet of the goddess.

Lilith soon spoke: _Your_ _blood_ _is_ _truly_ _dear to_ _me_ _and_ _I_ _believe_ _you_ _are_ _my_ _beloved_ _Daughter,_ _even_ _though_ _it_ _was_ _a_ _mortal_ _womb_ _which bred_ _you._ _The_ _seed_ _that_ _gave_ _you_ _life_ _belonged_ _to_ _one_ _of_ _my_ _dearest_ _Children,_ _who_ _called_ _himself_ _in_ _mortal_ _life_ _Joachim_ _Karel,_ _one_ _of_ _my_ _First_ _Born,_ _yet_ _he_ _betrayed_ _me_ _and_ _caused_ _my_ _anger._

This was said with such a furious hiss that Bathsheba gasped: “I offer my life as payment for the wrong my father committed against You.”

_And_ _I_ _accept_ _it_ , Lilith smiled, baring her fangs, _because_ _I_ _see_ _that_ _your_ _heart_ _is_ _pure_ _and_ _not_ _tainted_ _with_ _the_ _rot_ _of_ _mortals._ _Come_ _to_ _me,_ _Child,_ _and_ _drink_ _My_ _blood,_ _to_ _remove_ _from_ _your_ _veins_ _that_ _dishonourable_ _mortal_ _blood_ _bequeathed_ _to_ _you_ _by_ _Giselle_ _Boaz,_ _and_ _make_ _you_ _carry_ _only_ _the_ _blood_ _of_ _the_ _Immortals._

Bathsheba was shaking like a leaf when she stood. Lilith came to her and encircled her waist with one arm. The Nephilim was so close she felt Her fierce breath on her neck.

_You_ _are_ _beautiful!_ she exclaimed, rejoicing, _I_ _never_ _saw_ _such a_ _perfect_ _Daughter!_ _I_ _ndeed_ _you_ _look like you’ve been bred by_ _my_ _own_ _womb._ _Let us not wait._

Then Lilith made a sharp cut with the nail in Her own neck, and a trickle of bright blood ran down Her throat and slid down Her breasts, which were pressed against Bathsheba's ones. The Goddess affectionately made the Nephilim to put her mouth to the wound and suck the blood, which tasted like steel but was sweet as honey. Bathsheba stopped shaking and surrendered herself in ecstasy to the honour which few of her kind had experienced over the centuries. Meanwhile, Lilith pierced Bathsheba’s thigh with her own nails and let the blood gush there, although her daughter was so entranced that she felt no pain.

_Your_ _impure_ _blood_ _will_ _be_ _entirely_ _drained_ _from_ _this_ _wound._ _You_ _must_ _drink_ _from_ _Me_ _if_ _you_ _want_ _to_ _live._ _I_ _will_ _prevent_ _this_ _wound_ _from_ _closing,_ _because_ _for_ _Me_ _nothing_ _is_ _impossible - and_ _you_ _will_ _be reborn_ _into_ _a_ _new_ _existence_ _in_ _which_ _there_ _will no longer be_ _a_ _hybrid_ _half_ _mortal,_ _half_ _Nephilim,_ _but_ _you_ _will_ _be_ _pure_ _and_ _whole._ _My_ _daughter,_ _you_ _will_ _be_ _a_ _First_ _Born._

Bathsheba clung to her Mother and sucked Her blood with despair. She seemed to float as if her feet no longer touched the ground. The skin of the goddess was warm and soft, like Her breasts, and suddenly Her wings wrapped and drifted them both in an embrace.

No one knew how long that intimate and sacred rite was. In the end, Lilith closed the wound in her thigh and gently pulled her back from Her neck. Bathsheba gasped, her mouth dripping blood, and suddenly she slipped from Her arms and laid on the ground, bursting with fullness.

_I_ _am_ _extremely_ _pleased_ , the Goddess said as She closed the wound in Her neck, _I'll_ _be_ _happy_ _to_ _do_ _what_ _you_ _asked._ _The_ _Periapt_ _and_ _the_ _Three_ _Shards_ _will_ _be_ _destroyed._ _The_ _Scepter_ _is_ _in_ _your_ _hands_ _and_ _you_ _’_ _ll_ _rule_ _with_ _me_ _the_ _Legions_ _of_ _My_ _Spouse._ _But_ _before_ _that,_ _my_ _blessed_ _girl,_ _you_ _must_ _offer_ _to_ _Me_ _a_ _special_ _sacrifice._

“All honour and glory to You, Queen of Hell.” Murmured Bathsheba, in a state of ecstasy. “I'll give you whatever you ask me, even my whole soul.”

Lilith reached down and stroked her body with Her wings. _I_ _saw_ _that_ _my_ _Priestess_ _’_ _murderer_ _is_ _decided_ _to_ _give_ _a_ _cruel_ _death_ _to_ _the_ _last_ _of_ _the_ _Lux_ _Veritatis._ _That_ _’_ _s_ _not_ _My_ _will._ _That_ _man_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _meet_ _his_ _death_ _here_ _in_ _this_ _fortress,_ _no_ _t_ _under_ _her_ _hands._ She kept bowing until Her lips brushed her ear. _I_ _want_ _you_ _to_ _take_ _this_ _man_ _out of_ _the_ _prison_ _and_ _bring_ _him_ _to_ _my_ _kingdom_ _in_ _the_ _Vortex._ _I_ _want_ _you_ _to_ _sacrifice_ _him_ _in_ _My_ _altar,_ _because_ _I_ _’_ _ll_ _be_ _pleased_ _to_ _show_ _the_ _Angels_ _how_ _the_ _last_ _of_ _Their_ _warriors_ _dies_ _because_ _of_ _Me._ _And_ _you_ _will_ _also_ _sacrifice_ _his_ _lover,_ _the_ _Amazon,_ _the_ _Black_ _Alchemist_ _’_ _s_ _murderer,_ _for_ _she_ _’_ _s_ _bringing_ _in_ _her_ _womb_ _a_ _new_ _Warrior_ _of_ _Light._

Bathsheba shuddered at that, and her eyes widened. “She’s bringing... in her womb...!” She repeated with a gasp.

_That_ _will_ _be_ _my_ _Great_ _Sacrifice - that_ _will_ _show_ _to_ _Yahweh,_ _and_ _all_ _His_ _heavenly_ _minions_ _who_ _sentenced_ _Me_ _to_ _dwell_ _in_ _the_ _shadow,_ _that_ _there_ _is_ _no_ _superior_ _to_ _Me_ _in_ _Heaven,_ _on_ _Earth,_ _and_ _in_ _Hell._ _You_ _’_ _ll_ _pour_ _into_ _My_ _altar_ _the_ _blood_ _of_ _father,_ _mother,_ _and_ _son,_ _and_ _Heaven_ _shall_ _shake_ _at_ _My_ _Great_ _Power._ She got up slowly and Her shining figure began to fade. _Do_ _this_ _for_ _Me,_ _Bathsheba,_ _Daughter_ _of_ _Karel,_ _My_ _Child,_ _and_ _I_ _will_ _destroy_ _the_ _cause_ _of_ _your_ _grief._

The Nephilim smiled through her bloodstained lips and lost consciousness while still whispering: “All honor and glory to You, Lady of Beasts. Your will be done.”

 

* * *

 

Maddalena spent the first days on the Island fascinated by everything she saw. After a severe medical exam - thank God, her clients hadn't spread to her the dreaded diseases common in her job, and after receiving an even more severe speech about discipline, she was given clean new clothes and an auxiliary uniform. She immediately found herself working in a huge fortress with bright hallways and isolated chambers, where patients of all ages and both sexes suffered atrociously.

At first, Maddalena thought it was a kind of secret military hospital. Her boss, Dr. Giselle Boaz, was an attractive and certainly lovely woman who transmitted a sense of confidence to her employees. Of course, Maddalena could tell that there was _something_ wrong in _everything_... she'd the impression that this woman, who reportedly commanded there like a warlord, was plunged into a deep depression, as reflected in the harshness with which she treated patients, nothing like her usual way with people.

A few days later, Maddalena became convinced that something was _terribly_  wrong there. The suffering of the patients was awful and some surgeries looked cruel and unnecessary... to her, who hardly knew anything about medicine. But she fulfilled the duties of her job and primary care to patients efficiently. It didn't take long to do that.

However, it was the fifth day when the horror lived in those isolated chambers was confirmed. She'd been anxiously looking for Kurtis, expecting to see him in a camera, locked up and strapped to a stretcher, but there was no sign of him. Whom she met, however, was Radha Deli.

It was mid-afternoon after cleaning the wounds of a poor old woman, when she heard a shrill voice screaming and ringing throughout the hall. She came running and found Ralph, the warden, waiting calmly before an open chamber, where the screams came from. Inside she heard Giselle’s voice.

“Don't move! You hear me? This is because Lara Croft needs to know where you are. She's a very suspicious woman, isn't she? If we don’t send a proof you're here, she won’t believe it! That would be sad, right?”

Maddalena then heard a tearing scream followed by a burst of sobs. She leaned against the wall, dazed, while she heard Giselle saying: “You can let her go, Karl. Well, Hugh, here they are - hope they arrive fresh to its destination.”

“Don’t worry, Mistress. They will arrive in good condition.”

“Good. Well, you know what to do.”

The Italian prostitute saw a harmless looking man going out and carrying a small cardboard box in his hands. He walked passing next to her without looking at her and she noticed a drop of blood on the box top... full of horror, the redhead controlled herself and reached the armoured door frame.

Inside, huddled in a corner, was a girl about fourteen years. By her features, Maddalena thought she was Indian or Pakistani. The warden was leaning over her and tried to get the arm she'd stubbornly hidden under her jacket. Then Giselle turned towards Maddalena... and she held back a scream. The lovely doctor was splashed up and down with blood and wielding a sharp scalpel in her hand. “Oh, Giulia, glad you're here.” The blonde sighed. “Let's see if you can mend her wounds... I had to intervene and her stubbornness has left me no choice.”

Maddalena wasn't listening, but rather looking open-mouthed in horror at the little hand that Karl had finally succeeded in extracting from under the clothes: the girl was missing the ring and little fingers of her left hand. Giselle had amputated them.

“C'mon.” The scientists called the warden, snapping her fingers. “I’ll leave you with Ralph, Giulia, he'll help you with the healing.”

They left after the warden entered with the tray materials and, with affectionate words, he tried to convince the girl to show him the wounded hand. Finally, Maddalena reacted and tried to fix the stumps as well as possible, after having anaesthetized her locally. The girl looked at her outraged.

_“Dio mio,”_ dared to whisper Maddalena, “this girl was perfectly healthy ... as are all patients in this hospital! What's going on here?”

Ralph looked at her with sarcasm. “C'mon, Giulia, the doctor's experimenting; she knows what she's doing. We must serve her and not ask questions, okay?”

The girl’s hand was bandaged and Ralph left, but Maddalena remained in the door, unable to leave. Those dark eyes were focused on her.

“I’m... I’m sorry.” Then the redhead whispered. “I didn’t know... I knew nothing of what they do here. You understand English? I ... My name's Giulia.”

The kid narrowed her eyes. “Radha Deli.” She said suddenly.

Maddalena tried to think what Giselle had said about... _Lara_ _Croft_. Sure! The British explorer. Maybe...? “Hey, girl, by chance have you seen or heard of Kurtis Trent? I think he could be here in the fortress.”

Radha shook her head and said in her poor English: “He saved my life and my honour when I was a child, but now I can’t be saved by anyone. I don’t know if he will be here, but I hope not, because then he won’t be fine. And I want to go...” She began to sway back and forth, tormented. “I want to go!” She sobbed. “Please, help me!”

Maddalena put her hands to her mouth, desperate. “If only I knew how...”

 

* * *

 

“Are you telling me, Marie, you've always known this?” Lara looked stunned at the Navajo woman, sitting quietly on the couch in the hall of Croft Manor. Not even two hours had passed since Lara and Dunstan had returned from Rome, and Marie had been waiting there, protected by Justin’s men. The British explorer had barely had time to greet Winston and stifle her remorse for Radha’s kidnapping.

On the table laid an open laptop, a recent acquisition of the Manor, whose screen showed an expectant Zip connected by video-conference.

“The Order has always known the existence of Lilith’s dwelling place and its location.” Marie replied calmly. “And their relatives were also informed. It's a kind of... security code.”

“You mean, find out where the Devil lives in case he comes to eat y’all.” The computer technician replied sarcastically.

Lara sat down, stunned. “I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn of the existence of Lilith and her abode existing in a physical and real place... but truthfully, I didn’t expect it. I would've preferred Bathsheba to remain as our greatest enemy... At least, I know something about how to handle a Nephilim.”

“Bathsheba remains as our greatest enemy.” Marie remarked, raising her index finger. “Lilith has been sleeping nothing less than six hundred years, and She won’t wake up unless something or someone forces Her to do so.”

“What can wake up Sleeping Beauty?” Asked Zip.

“Maybe Bathsheba...” Marie frowned. “No, that would only summon Her spirit. It takes more than that to arise Her.”

“A crane or something?”

Lara turned towards the screen, furious. “Zip, if you keep making crude jokes about everything we say, then you’ll take off those headphones and give them to Selma or Vlad. I want serious people dealing with serious issues.”

“Okay, okay, babe. Just trying to lighten the mood...”

At that moment the bell rang, and Winston came from behind the ladder. “I will open it...” He muttered.

Lara was going to say no, but Zip was talking again and caught her attention: “Vlad's pretty pissed about the news. He says when this is over, he’ll go to the Vatican to chat with that old geezer himself if he ain’t dead already. I mean the cardinal, not Vlad, of course. But... are we to assume Lilith lives in the actual _real_ Hell, with fire and brimstone and shit like that and all the Lux Veritatis who go there get fried up nice and crispy?”

Marie smiled for the first time in many days, and then she added: “Lilith lives in the Vortex... which is the name that men of the Middle Ages gave to what we call Hell. The Vortex is neither physical nor geographical, Lara; it’s not a place where the lava flows and there are bonfires. The Vortex is the womb that breeds demons. They are born there, and then they spread throughout the world, and as they aren’t animals like elephants or dolphins, they don’t breed; they’re barren: when one dies, the Vortex breeds another. Hence, the demons never run out. Hence the task of the Lux Veritatis is infinite.”

“Fuck.” Zip murmured.

“The Vortex has an access point on the face of Earth, which both the Cardinal and I know, Lara, but once you cross its threshold, nothing more's known.”

Lara twisted her braid with a finger. “Now you’ll tell me that all unwary who venture there never return.”

Marie shook her head. “No. I don’t know of anyone who's ever gone there. The Order considered that a stupid risk. The fight was against Eckhardt, the Cabal, the _Nephili_ and demons... they already had enough, no need to go into the very mouth of the wolf. Nobody has ever gone there, Lara. It's madness. It’s the Vortex.”

The British explorer smiled. “I’ve always said the same about other places, Marie.”

“You're not planning on going, are you?”

“If Bathsheba forces me to do it, I will. I won't have that monster awakening.”

Marie let out a sigh of dismay. “Lara, you don’t know... if you think Tenebra was frightening, it's because you haven't seen the Vortex. Nor me! No one alive in this world has! The Vortex is the very heart of Evil, not just the place where Lilith lurks, but also Her husband, Samael, the dark angel you Christians call Satan. You'd never reach far beyond its threshold. You'd never see the faces of the Fallen One and the Lady of Beasts. Before that, you’d be devoured by creatures bred from Her own womb.”

“I'm shitting my pants.” Zip remarked.

“Furthermore,” Marie continued, ignoring the hacker's comment, “think of my son. Think about Kurtis. He’s more important than Bathsheba and her bloody goddess. It’s him who's being killed right now as we waste time chattering.”

A shadow of sorrow crossed Lara’s face and she turned, so Zip couldn’t see her. Yes, Marie was right, dammit, but she didn’t know where to go... she had no clue about his whereabouts!

“Miss...”

Lara looked up and noticed Winston looking at her with a thoughtful, sorry expression. He was holding a package in his hands. “This just arrived for you. If you want I can open it...”

“No, thank you. I will. You should go to rest.”

The old man obeyed and Lara waited until his footsteps were lost in the top floor. Then she looked suspicious and opened the package while saying: “Tell Vlad and Selma about this, Zip. I'll call you as soon as we know more.”

The hacker nodded and closed the screen window immediately. Lara had already removed the wrapping of the package and found a cardboard box. Her eyes, and Marie’s ones, got stuck in a small brown spot on the cover.

“Is that... blood?” Marie murmured.

Lara slid her hand along the edge of the lid. In the split of the second she took to lift it, thousands of thoughts went through her weary mind at the speed of light. Suddenly she saw the content, and the cover slipped through her fingers and landed on the ground.

“Oh... no!” Marie moaned, covering her mouth with her hands.

There were, bent at the knuckle like two quotation marks, two fingers cut at the base - a ring finger and a little finger, dark skinned and with short nails, already rotting on a folded note splattered with blood. Lara took the note from under the fingers and handed it to Marie, who opened it and read a typewritten message:

 

_THIS_ _IS_ _SENT_ _BY_ _RADHA_ _DELI_ _WITH_ _GREAT_ _AFFECTION_

_WITHIN_ _THREE_ _DAYS_ _YOU_ _MUST_ _BE_ _IN_ _THE_ _TAMESIS_ _’ DOCK_ _AT_ _TEN_ _PM_

_BRING_ _THE_ _PERIAPT_ _SHARDS_ _WITH_ _YOU_

_IF_ _NOT_ _WE_ _’_ _LL_ _KEEP_ _SENDING_ _THE_ _GIRL_ _IN_ _PIECES_

_UNTIL_ _ONLY_ _HER_ _HEAD REMAINS_

_HAVE_ _A_ _NICE_ _DAY_

 

“Bastards.” hissed Lara. The box slipped from her lap and the two little fingers rolled across the carpet. Suddenly she felt a spasm and bent in half. She noticed Marie’s hand on her shoulder. “Let me...” Lara still gasped. “This...”

“Easy, Lara. Calm down. That's how they work... who are these fingers from?”

The British explorer looked up. “Radha. She’s... the girl who was abducted. The one who was under my tutelage. I took her out of India to save her...” She closed her eyes tightly and held back tears. Her temples were hammering. _Don_ _’_ _t_ _be a_ _hypocrite,_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _try_ _to_ _fool_ _yourself._ _You_ _’_ _re_ _not_ _crying_ _out of_ _rage and pity_ _for_ _this_ _poor, mutilated_ _kid_ _..._ _you_ _’_ _re_ _crying_ _from_ _relief,_ _because_ _these_ _were_ _Radha_ _’_ _s_ _and_ _not_ _Kurtis_ _’_ _..._ _c'mon,_ _admit_ _it,_ _you_ _selfish_ _hag_ _,_ _for_ _a_ _moment_ _you_ _thought_ _you'd_ _find_ _his_ _two_ _eyes_ _on_ _this_ _box_ _,_ _so_ _blue,_ _lifelessly_ _staring at_ _you..._

“Lara!”

The adventurer breathed and air was like a wave of fire burning her lungs. She opened her eyes and saw Marie carefully picking and placing the fingers on the box. Then she got up, feeling a wave of anger filling her from head to toe. No, they wouldn’t have pulled Kurtis’ eyes out yet, but surely they were doing many horrible things with him, and now those bastards had the snout, the nerve to threaten her with sending Radha in pieces like frozen veal, and summon her to negotiate the non-negotiable. “You want to play foul, right, bitch?” She hissed through clenched teeth, addressing a non-present Bathsheba. “Fine. Let's play.”

 

* * *

 

Kurtis closed his eyes for a moment - no one could deny that to him. Being free for a few seconds. Getting rid of the bright focus of this torture chamber, of the reflections on the metal surfaces, of the faces around him, some sadistic, others indifferent... of the vision of his fingers, crushed in that press.

“Are you deaf or something?” He heard again Giselle's tantalizing voice. “You know what you've done? You know what you did? You know why you are being punished?”

It was always the same - one day, and another and another. The tortures changed - more electric shocks would've meant his death, but always the same questions, the same words over and over again. If what they were doing to him wouldn’t kill him, he was sure Giselle’s verbiage would.

Sitting on a chair, dressed only in tattered pants - the only piece of clothing given to him since the rest were shredded, after having spent nights naked in the cell, and with his hands on a table, Kurtis tried to stay cold and calm despite his horrible situation. Both of his hands were caught in a small printing press whose crank was driven by a relentless Schäffer, who seemed to enjoy each turn, which crushed the space between the two leaflets a little more.

“Well?” Giselle insisted, sitting opposite him, her cheeks flushed. “Have you anything to say?”

“Crush me a little more or kill me.” Kurtis said, turning towards Schäffer. “But don’t make me listen to this bitch anymore.”

Giselle gasped in disbelief while Schäffer, smiling wickedly, took another turn to the crank. There was a horrible sound of creaking bones and a painful hiss of air escaping between Kurtis' clenched teeth.

“You're a cheeky and cocky scoundrel.” Giselle murmured. “You try to provoke me, but despite your rudeness, nothing will hasten your death. You’ll listen to me until the end, whether you like it or not - and God knows this is just the beginning.” She leaned again towards him: “As you refuse to answer, I'll do it for you: I'm having your fingers crushed because you killed a divine being with them. Consequences must be assumed, Lux Veritatis, and you didn’t when you stabbed Joachim Karel.”

_Not_ _true_ , said an inner voice, _you_ _assumed_ _them,_ _of_ _course_ _you_ _did_ _._ _You_ _assumed_ _you'd_ _die_ _if_ _Lara_ _failed,_ _if_ _she_ _wouldn_ _’_ _t_ _have_ _discovered_ _the_ _True_ _Option - but_ _you_ _never_ _doubted_ _he_ _r._ _You_ _assumed_ _that,_ _if_ _not_ _killed,_ _that_ _freak_ _would've_ _taken and made_ _an_ _atrocity with her._ _Everything_ _else_ _doesn_ _’_ _t_ _matter._ _Let_ _the_ _bitch_ _talk - s_ _he doesn't know shit_ _..._

Another turn of crank, another crunch. Suddenly, and while his mind faded - it was him screaming so loud? - he became aware of what his fingers had become: mashed flesh stumps filled with splinters of bone, no larger than a piece of seed. Through his blurred eyes, he saw a dark trail staining the press... was it blood? And that blackish crust just fallen from there? A nail?

Suddenly, he'd the delightful vision of Giselle's head exploding in pieces like a ripped watermelon... _c'mon_ _,_ _Trent,_ _you_ _can_ _do_ _it...burst_ _that_ _bitch_ _’_ _s_ _head_ , _the_ _hell_ _she_ _thinks_ _she_ _is_ _,_ _you_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _give_ _up..._ He felt swallowed by darkness and saw nothing more. Ah, blessed darkness. Who said darkness was bad? Darkness was his friend. Not seeing that horrible spotlight on his face anymore blinding him... And what were those distorted voices swarming over him?

“Take his hands out of the press. Okay, let's take a look...”

“He’s in shock, Doctor. We can’t ask more from him for today.”

“Call the assistant on duty. We must stop the bleeding.”

Suddenly, a dark hiss around him - Marcus’ mocking voice again: _Yes,_ _my_ _son,_ _let_ _yourself_ _be_ _killed_ _like_ _a_ _lamb!_ _Give_ _them_ _the_ _victory_ _they_ _crave!_ _So_ _many_ _years_ _of_ _struggling,_ _shedding_ _the_ _blood_ _of_ _our_ _children,_ _our_ _wives,_ _so_ _that_ _now_ _the_ _last_ _Fighter_ _wins_ _the_ _crown_ _of_ _martyrdom_ _letting_ _himself_ _to_ _be_ _murdered!_ _Okay, you_ _’_ _ll_ _be_ _among_ _those who_ _were_ _as_ _stupid_ _as_ _you - of_ _course,_ _they_ _weren't gifted like you_ _!_ _So le_ _t_ _them_ _win_ _,_ _after_ _so_ _much_ _suffering!_

The elder had shouted that again and again, during the long nights on the cell, while the cold permeated Kurtis' bones. He hadn’t wanted to take the silk cloak... he knew _she_ had left it there and he’d rather sleep naked before touching that... Fuck her and the bitch that bore her... and bit by bit, the fever pulled down in his body, making him more vulnerable to torture, but also willing to surrender before and left alone for longer...

The Lux Veritatis heard someone mourning - a woman weeping beside him. Lara? Couldn't be. Lara was far, far away, fortunately, she couldn't see him lying there on the floor, covered with burns, cuts and bruises, convulsing with fever, his hands crushed. But who wept for him in that horrible place? Who took pity on his miserable fate?

Kurtis opened his eyes. The bright light had gone, thank goodness. He could feel the cold marble floor digging into his back, a pain in the neck, that string of stinging burning feeling in his hands... or what was left of them. Suddenly the table, the chair and the press seemed very high, far away - had he fallen from there? He saw neither Giselle nor Schäffer, only the woman who cried, leaning over him.

He looked closely at her and saw it was a redhead young woman, with golden eyes and freckles on the nose. At first he didn't recognize her, then...

“Maddalena?” He stammered, surprised at the hoarse sound of his own voice.

“Hush. Don’t talk.” The Italian prostitute murmured, wiping away tears. “I'm bandaging your fingers... oh _Dio mio_ , your poor hands... _Dio, Dio_ , what have they done to you, Kurtis?”

He closed his eyes again, too exhausted to answer, as she was sobbing and tinkering with his fingers. She hurt him so much, he wanted to grab her by the neck, but, what if his hands were reduced to smithereens?

“What are you doing here, Maddalena?” He muttered dim.

“Giulia, Kurtis. My name's Giulia. Forget that other name, it was never mine.”

The door burst open and the woman jumped.

“Have you finished?” The grotesque voice was Schäffer’s.

Maddalena arose to face the German. “The bandage will hold the bone fragments and stop the bleeding, but there's an infection risk. We need to...”

“No need to do anything, big mouth.” Abruptly replied the mercs' leader. “If they get infected, we'll cut off his fingers. Now move, you’re needed elsewhere.”

Maddalena, in desperation, took the last moment to surround Kurtis with one arm and help him sit and lean against the wall. As she did it, the man's burning lips brushed her ear and heard him whisper: “Have you lost your mind? Go away, they could recognize you!”

She could hear no more. Schäffer threw her away with a stretch and rushed her out of the room, pushing her down the hall. The Italian woman couldn't contain herself: “That man's very sick!” She yelled. “What the hell you think you’re doing? You are all insane, everyone! _Dio mio_ , this is not a hospital, it's a slaughterhouse!”

She didn’t see the arrival of the slap. The German’s right paw slammed into her jaw and threw her against the wall. She collapsed on the floor, dazed.

“You’re asked to shut up and obey.” Schäffer hissed. “Next time I hear something like that, you'll regret it. Now shut the fuck up and get outta here.”

Maddalena arose, touching her swollen chin, and fled down the hall, stumbling and sobbing, not because the pain but by what she'd just witnessed. She stood in a corner, breathing heavily while shaking like a leaf. Luckily, the German hadn't recognized her, but maybe her luck wouldn't last long... and neither Kurtis’ strength.

The redhead gritted her teeth, despite the pain, and walked determined to her locker, to search the documents. Sensible or not, they would listen to her, and if not convinced... well, she had to take the risk. She must. For Kurtis.


	31. Save Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a screenshot of Lara Croft from the beta version of Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness.

Ten o'clock at night. Thames dock in London's heart.

Lara waited patiently, sitting on an old bench with the box containing two Shards - hers and Selma’s - on her lap. After so much discussion with Marie, she'd convinced her to stay in Surrey. Lara was taking no risks concerning the Navajo woman.

While twisting her braid absently, the British explorer noticed a small shadow moving quickly. Two large figures escorted it, and when coming into the light, Lara saw a short and funny looking man, as comical as the two bodyguards looked threatening. She looked him up and down.

“Who are you?”

“Hugh will be enough, Miss Croft.” Said the other with a piping little voice. “I serve the Cabal, as you’d probably have guessed. You won’t be wise in judging me by my size and appearance, you’ll regret it.”

Lara twisted her mouth and looked at the two goons with their huge arms folded across their broad chests.

“Well?” Hugh said. “Where are the Shards?”

For answer, Lara held out the box. Hugh took it and opened it. He immediately frowned and said shrilly: “Only two Shards! You take me for a fool?”

“Not yet.” She mocked. “Of course there are only two Shards. One's mine and the other is Selma's. I know nothing of the third, as you'll understand.”

Hugh closed the case with a snap and hid it inside his coat. “You must be an idiot”. Hissed the man. “You really think I care? You really think I don’t know the third Shard is owned by Mrs. Cornel, who according to my sources is with you?”

Lara's eyes darkened. “I'm not an idiot -. but you are, Hugh. You really think I was going to give you all the Shards without proof of Radha being alive? Where is she now? Is this your way of trading?”

“I don’t make trad...” He didn’t finish the sentence. A dozen of armed men emerged from the darkness. The two thugs reacted by pouncing on them, but were gunned down in seconds. Hugh, terrified, tried to flee but a burly soldier grabbed him by the neck and lifted him in a twinkling. “Well, well, Lara!” He sang. “Is _this_ a Cabal member? Boring!”

“You can let him go, Justin.” She smiled.

Hugh was thrown on the floor, but he got back up with a jump, while Justin took back the box with the Shards and handled it to Lara.

“I didn’t expect this to be this easy.” She mocked again. “So many mercs you have, and you didn’t even bring one with you. Who's the idiot here?”

“Oh, excuse me ma'am!” Hugh spat sarcastically. “They are all busy tearing Mr. Trent’s skin to shreds, so I had to come with such a small escort.”

Lara’s smile faded as she stepped forward but Justin stopped her by grabbing her arm. “Okay, runt”. She gasped, controlling herself. “I’m now putting conditions. If you want the Shards you’ll free both Kurtis Trent and Radha Deli and you’ll forget about us forever.”

Hugh laughed dryly. “Your Kurtis is almost dead, just a wreck...we’ll return him for burial, or maybe you'd like to use him as manure for your manor gardens...” He didn’t see Lara’s fist arriving, but it hit him in the mouth and threw him spinning to the ground. Next thing he noticed were her hands gripping his throat and shaking him like a puppet. He breathed again when the soldier named Justin pushed Lara backwards. The spy choked with his own blood and began to spit teeth.

Suddenly he felt himself lifted and strongly bound by Justin. “Well, little man, you know now not to piss off the lady, right? Now behave.”

Lara, panting heavily, collapsed on the bench as the soldiers surrounded Hugh, while others were hiding the bodies of the thugs. Stunned, she held her head, suddenly feeling dizzy. “Well.” She said at last. “Since you won’t do this by hook, you’ll do by crook. You won’t get the Shards. If Bathsheba wants them, she must come for them. Now you'll tell us where you have Radha and Kurtis.”

“Never.” Hugh replied.

Another fist like steel struck again, this time in his chin, and wasn't from Lara but from Justin. The blow split his flesh and a trail of blood began to flow.

“Where are they?” Lara repeated.

 _“_ _Fuck_ _you,_ _bitch!”_

A third blow sank the bridge of his nose. Hugh began to howl and writhe. Justin kept hitting him until his face was a mess. Then he knocked him on the ground and said: “Keep pissing her off, you dupe, and I’ll trample the remains of your face with my boot.”

Hugh spat blood and seeing the soldier’s boot rising to hover over his face, began to whine.

Lara, who hadn’t moved from the bench, insisted: “Where are they?”

“On the Island!” The spy gave in.

“What island?”

“It has no name! It’s simply the Island..! There’s the hospital, the laboratory and some dungeons!”

Lara shook her head. So that was their base - another Strahov, another centre like the one they had in Prague and then in Munich. The rat's nest had been rebuilt again... this time on an island. And yet again, people were dying there... and among them was _him_ also...

A retch made her bend, but she controlled it. She was getting worse, and she knew what it was. It was _that_. She hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it, she hadn’t felt entitled to destroy what wasn't hers alone, but when the symptoms disappeared and she felt well again, she'd come to believe she'd imagined that, it wasn't real, that test was wrong, there was nothing growing or expanding within her... but there it was once more: the feeling of dizziness and nausea. Again.

“Lara?” The soldiers looked at her, waiting.

She took a breath. “Tell me where that island is and I’ll let you go.”

“I will not...!”

There was a _crack_ , and Justin lifted his foot. This time Hugh swallowed so much blood that he barely had voice to scream. “Okay, okay... God! It’s near Cyprus, in front of Cyprus’ coast, to the north, three days at sea! God, let me go now!”

Lara remained silent for a moment, then nodded. Justin hauled him to his feet with a stretch. Sobbing, Hugh faltered.

“Very good. You've cooperated and therefore I won’t bother you anymore.” Lara said. “But now you’ll guide me there.”

The spy looked at her, horrified, and then the British explorer smiled sarcastically. “Of course, darling... I’ll give your superiors the honour to greet me in person. I've some little things to deal with them.”

 

* * *

 

“Doctor...”

Giselle looked up and froze. Before her was the sweet Giulia, as she used to call her, with a suspiciously swollen chin which began to acquire a slight purplish tinge. Her eyes were red from crying and she was holding in her grasp a sheaf of papers.

“God, what's that? Who hit you?”

The scientist had left the torture room so quickly, furious and disgusted, that she hadn’t seen anything. Now she just wanted to be alone and rest a while in her office, but Maddalena’s sight, who seemed totally disturbed, couldn't be ignored.

The redhead threw the wad of papers on her table, without further ado. Giselle took a sheet of manuscript, adjusted her glasses, read a few lines moving silently her lips, and suddenly raised her green eyes and gazed at her new assistant above her glasses. “Giulia, what the hell is this?”

“Those are manuscripts dating from the XV century which talk about the Lux Veritatis and demons, about the Ne... _Nephili_ or something like that and many other things...”

Giselle had remained stiff.

“I know...” Maddalena continued. “Perhaps a woman of science like you may not be interested in this, but I'm certain that someone on this place wanted these documents... I know, I swear, I think that...”

Suddenly, someone appeared behind Giselle, as if she'd materialized out of pure nothingness. Maddalena screamed and jumped back, terrified.

“Giulia, this is my daughter, Bathsheba.” The doctor said calmly.

“We already know each other.” The beauty was similing. “So _Giulia_ , huh? You were right to take back your real name. The other was good for your former lifestyle, but didn’t suit you.” She slowly walked around the doctor’s desk, patting her lightly on the shoulder, smiling as she walked towards Maddalena. She, in a panic, had retreated to the door. When trying to grab the doorknob, she noted, horrified it was gone. There was no knob on the door.

“I should punish you for what you’ve done.” The Nephilim murmured. “Making fun of my men, lying to my mother about your background and your name, infiltrating our stronghold and talking to the prisoners. But let's quit - say what you intend to do with these documents.”

The Italian woman was so close she could smell Bathsheba's sweet perfume. Suddenly, Maddalena knew she was doomed _. I_ _t_ _’_ _s_ _over,_ _now_ _they_ _will_ _kill_ _you,_ _but_ _at_ _least,_ _just_ _end_ _what_ _you_ _started._ “These documents are extremely valuable.” She mumbled. “I know from Daniel Monteleone that both you and your people were interested in things having to do with what’s written here. I came to... to offer them in exchange for Kurtis Trent’s freedom.”

And then something amazing happened - that woman, that wicked witch so beautiful that was painful to stare at her, smiled sweetly, and it was a sad and compassionate smile.

Giselle, however, frowned. “Just what I need! That son of a bitch’s life’s not worth a lot of useless papers! Bullshit about a goddess and things like that...!”

“Careful, Mother.” Gently whispered the other. “Don’t blaspheme. The documents are valuable and maybe worth that man’s life...”

Maddalena’s golden eyes moistened. Hopeful, she went towards Bathsheba and bowed the knee, took the hem of her garment, and whispered: “I’m only a scorned woman and all I want is to save him... you who are gentle, have mercy on him - I beg you.”

There was a severe snort from Giselle. The beauty smiled even more - it was amazing how her smile could wide without actually seeming unnatural, and said: “I promise you Kurtis Trent won’t die here. He won’t be tortured anymore and soon I’ll get him out of prison. Is that enough for you, Giulia?”

“Bathsheba!” Giselle jumped, shocked. “What are you saying?”

“Yes...” Maddalena gasped, stunned. “Yes, that’s enough for me.”

The Nephilim's smile faded then, and the redhead saw a cold twinkle in her green eyes. “Since you're so in love with him, from now you’ll take his place and get in your own flesh what was prepared for him.”

Giselle was speechless, shocked, while the Maddalena's pupils widened in horror.

“It will be easy to suffer, now that you know you’re doing it for him.” Bathsheba concluded, smiling wickedly. “This will be your punishment for your boldness, but anyway, thank you for having provided such valuable documents.”

Maddalena turned around and suddenly, her fingers found the knob which wasn't before - but she couldn’t open the door. A wave of darkness swallowed her and saw nothing more.

 

* * *

 

“I want you to explain all of this to me _immediately_!” After the mercs dragged Maddalena’s motionless body to the dungeons, an enraged Giselle faced her daughter, shaking the bundle of documents in her hands. “These papers are very old, Bathsheba! Where did that slut get them from?”

“They belonged to her former boss, Daniele Monteleone, a _mafioso_ who, in turn, had got them from his uncle, Cardinal Ercole Monteleone.”

“Vatican archives! Nothing less than that, Bathsheba! Why were these files in the hands of a whore?”

“A move she made against her boss, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Give them to me.” And she reached for the papers, but Giselle pulled the bundle away from her reach.

“No, I won’t! I'm mad at you, Bathsheba! You know what’s here? Bullshit! Myths and legends about that Order and that goddamned Lilith...”

Bathsheba's eyes sparkled. “It's the second time you blaspheme. Beware; there _mustn_ _’_ _t_ be a third.”

“For heaven's sake, daughter! All this is affecting your brain!” Giselle threw the papers on the table and took her daughter by the shoulders. “Look, honey... try to understand me. I’m a woman of science and I don’t care about these obscure myths. Gertrude had already managed to poison your mind with these fantasies and so I got rid of her.... I thought you'd forgotten about all this crap!”

Bathsheba looked at her relentlessly... and for the first time Giselle was scared. She feared her. She ran her hand across her forehead, stunned. “What have I done to you to hate me in this way, my daughter? Didn't I granted you everything you asked? The kidnapping of that Hindu child, to send Hugh with her mutilated fingers together with a message to the British explorer...what did I do wrong?”

“You don’t trust me, Mother. You’re failing me.”

Giselle slumped in the chair. “You know why your father died? He died because he was dazzled, like you, by prophecies and other claptrap. He thought his only chance was to seize Lara Croft and breed a child with her! You can see he was wrong. He didn’t need that British bitch to breed you, my daughter, Karel’s daughter!”

Bathsheba shivered, since she was repeating the Goddess’ words.

“And what about releasing that bastard?” Giselle continued. “Why did you bring him to me? Sounds good to punish that insolent redhead, but you know he's mine... _he_ _’_ _s_ _mine!_ And I won’t let you to take him away.”

“He no longer belongs to you, Mother. He'll die soon if you keep torturing him. He’s sick and severely damaged.”

Colour rose to Giselle’s serene face, which suddenly contorted into a grimace of hysteria. “I _won_ _’_ _t_ leave him until seeing him cut into pieces, did you hear me? I’ll snatch up his last breath of life. I don’t know what happened to you, Bathsheba, but for the last couple of days you’ve been too rebellious... remember we’re a team, okay? You risked a lot to find and capture him in Cappadocia... Don’t tell me after that, you're thinking of setting him free!”

“I never said anything of freeing him.” Argued Bathsheba, smiling enigmatically.

Giselle sighed. The beauty reminded her Karel himself so much with that attitude, so mysterious, so cold and at the same time... so contemptuous. As if she no longer served. As if she couldn't enter her game. “You talked about stopping his torture and taking him out of the cell. Not going to play cat and mouse with you, daughter. I'm tired of trying to decipher what you say and what you mean. Whatever you say, that prisoner's mine and he must pay for what he did...” She walked up to her and took her by the shoulders again. Bathsheba always wore long flowing robes that left her soft shoulders bare, and when touched, the cold felt was as if ice rather than blood ran in her veins. “Sometimes, I think, Bathsheba, your father’s death doesn’t mean anything to you. I say this because you stay pretty neutral about it...”

“I don’t feel love nor hate, as you know. These fits of rage and passion you have are very picturesque, but they don’t suit my kind.”

 _“_ _Your_ _kind_ _!_ Your kind who are dead! Who died because of murderers like that goddamned Kurtis Trent! Why don’t you realize you're alone? Why don’t you realize when I grow older and die, and so all us, you’ll go on living forever, and you’ll be alone because there’s no _your_ _kind_ _?”_

For a moment, the serene expression of Bathsheba's beautiful face was replaced by one of bewilderment. Yes, she knew, but she'd never thought about that so... seriously. “If that’s what it must be...”

Giselle smiled triumphantly. “No. It won’t be.” She stepped back a few steps and looked at her: “Every time I see you, you gladden my soul. You're the most perfect creature on Earth. I created you... and now it's time you knew the truth.”

But Bathsheba didn’t need her to say that. It was written in her mind, very bright, shining wrapped in wisps of smoke. “No!”

“My experiments are trying to create another being like you, Bathsheba. A partner. A male Nephilim to take care of you and to provide you offspring.”

The beauty recoiled, her eyes glowing like green embers. “You can’t be serious!”

“Of course I am! What did you think I'm doing, undergoing development, tissue reconstruction, studying of the mechanisms of pain and healing? Learning about cancer? No, Daughter, I was serving the Cabal, as always!” She smiled and walked over to her, but Bathsheba went back, as if disgusted with her contact. “It’s true I don’t have your father’s wonderful genetic material anymore, but I no longer need it, since I have yours! I finally managed to isolate enough material to mix it with my own material and repeating the experiment...”

“Will you get pregnant again?” Bathsheba couldn’t believe her ears.

“Of course! And I'm sure this time I'll have a son! A brother and husband to you...”

 _Incest_ , then thought Bathsheba, _Cosmogonic_ _Incest_. _What_ _did_ _Aunt_ _Gertrude_ _tell_ _about_ _that?_ _D_ _emons_ _were_ _born_ _of_ _incest..._

“... in two years, maybe less, he’ll be ready for you. You'll never be alone again and you won’t be in danger. You can breed and grow again. This was Karel’s dream, and Eckhardt’s, and all of ours dream! And I, a humble woman who nobody took seriously, will perform it. Aren't you glad?”

The Nephilim looked at her, dumbfounded. _Should_ _I_ _be_ _happy,_ _mother?_ _Y_ _ou_ _have_ _decided_ _to_ _deliver_ _me_ _as_ _a_ _concubine_ _to_ _a_ _creature_ _yet_ _to_ _be_ _created._ _Y_ _ou_ _decide_ _for_ _me_ _without_ _consulting_ _me._ “Mother, you swore you'd never do that. Only I can be Lilith’s daughter. There won’t be another. Loneliness doesn’t matter. But I won’t be a simple womb to breed beings like me.”

“Yes, I swore... but I lied. You wouldn’t have let me go on... c'mon, Bathsheba, you must consider that...”

Without deigning to keep listening, the beauty turned and crossed the wall, but not before seizing the documents. She was so absorbed she forgot to go invisible and Ralph saw her coming out through the wall. The shock prevented him from sleeping for several nights.

“Bathsheba!” She heard her mother yelling in the distance. “Someday you'll thank me!”

 

* * *

 

It was night at Bran’s castle, and its three occupants were sleepy, but none of them felt like going to bed.

Zip, to whom the continuous glow of his laptop’s screen had left dark circles under his eyes, absently rubbed his ear as he heard Marie's voice over the loudspeaker: “... we prefer not to risk the three Shards by putting them together.” Said the Navajo woman, whose face appeared on screen. “If Lara fails in her mission and she’s captured, at least they would be still missing the third one, so that even if they destroy the other two, the Nephilim would still be at risk...”

“...if they don’t kill poor Kurt.” Zip sighed, rubbing his eyes this time.

Marie shook her head sadly. “Of course. Lara captured the spy sent by the Cabal and has forced him to reveal the location of their new stronghold. They will depart within two days and I’ll go with them, so for some time we won't be in touch...”

“That’s madness!” Suddenly exclaimed Selma, appearing behind the hacker and scaring him to death. “They have all their men there...!”

The Navajo woman took a solemn expression. “We've no choice, Selma. Looks like Kurtis' badly injured or even dying. In addition, Justin’s squad will escort us. If we need to go into battle, we’ll do.”

Zip whistled _._

“Can I quit now?” Then asked Marie. “I'm not used to this kind of stuff and I'm getting nervous.”

“Just saying to you,” Selma said, lifting a finger, “Vlad has already got the precise coordinates for the location of the Vortex’s entrance. If you let me... another madness.”

“You think I don’t know?” Marie sighed, exasperated. “But it would be easier to convince a stone! Lara's more stubborn than me!”

Selma pushed Zip aside and half sat in his chair: “Couldn’t they have located that Hell’s entrance elsewhere? Please, Marie! You know the number of permits, visas, steps, fake names, identities and garments need to...?”

“I get the picture, Selma, but it takes what it takes. Both Vlad and you are good at getting this kind of stuff. Don’t fail us.”

The Navajo woman hung up and Zip sighed. “Finally, princess.... just you and me again.” He stroked her hair flirtatiously, but Selma wasn't feeling like cuddling. She got up, upset, and said: “I’ll keep company with Vlad for a while. Poor thing didn’t sleep last night.”

Zip snorted. “I've slept as little as Mr. Smarty-pants. Who's been connecting you these two weeks?”

“I know, I know.” She said absently, kissed him on the cheek and hurried to leave the room.

The hacker sighed, put on his screensaver of topless girls and headed to the couch to rest a while.

 

* * *

 

Maddalena slowly began to regain consciousness. At first, finding herself lying in a wet, rocky ground, surrounded by a heavy, stifling atmosphere, she panicked - she could see nothing. Crawling and touching around her, she felt what seemed to be thick iron bars. She stepped back, stunned, and then she stepped on a motionless body on the floor. She yelled in terror.

“Careful, darling.” A hoarse voice whispered at close range. “You fall over him, you’ll kill him off.”

“Who's there?” She cried hysterically.

“Calm down. My name's Marcus and I’m a prisoner like you, so I'm not going to hurt you. That man you stepped on is my partner in misfortunes and the only time he can rest is when he’s unconscious, so I suggest you to lower your voice.”

“Where am I?”

“In the Island dungeon. I'm sorry, my dear, but abandon all hope. Now you’re among the losers.”

Now that her eyes became used to the darkness, she began to outline some shapes. She saw Kurtis lying on his side at her feet, motionless and silent, and through the bars, in front of her, a decrepit old man in rags looking at her curiously. “You're pretty... shame such a lovely girl down here with these two wretches. The Lady has come before and told me what you've done. Why have you been so foolish? You were supposed to be seen and not heard, and you'd continue wearing nice white coats and sleeping on a mattress. Now nobody can help you. You've been very, very foolish.”

She sat down next to Kurtis. “What I did, I did it for love.”

“Ah!” Marcus sighed. “That explains a lot. But love won’t save you.”

“It will save him.” She replied, and although she seemed to be reassured, her eyes were filled with tears.

The old man approached to the bars and stretched his arms over Kurtis’ body. He closed his eyes and moved his hands as if to caress him, but his hands were actually well above the body.

“What are you doing?” Maddalena murmured, surprised.

“Trying to help. Now hush, don't distract me.”

 _Poor_ _man_ , thought the Italian, _he's_ _lost_ _his_ _mind_ _down_ _here!_

Marcus spent some time moving his hands over Kurtis’ body as he dropped some Latin chant under his breath. And even as she watched, fascinated, she realized Kurtis seemed to breathe better and even his skin colour went from grey to pink. It was as if his lungs were clearing. She moved closer to him and felt his skin sweating if expelling the fever out of his body.

“Don’t touch him!” Marcus said softly. Then it was over - he withdrew his hands and sat down, exhausted, as if he'd make a great effort. Kurtis shuddered and sat up slowly. In the darkness of the dungeon, Maddalena heard his deep voice next to her: “Told you not to waste your Gift on me, old man.”

“I'm supposed to do this for you, not for anyone else. Without me you'd be already dead.”

“You’re not doing me a favour.”

“It's the most I can do. Wish I could heal your wounds completely, but I'm not a Nephilim. I’m sorry for your hands... they’re destroyed.”

Kurtis shook his head and then noticed Maddalena, sitting against the wall, staring at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking your place.” She whispered. “It's over, they won’t hurt you anymore. They promised. It’s me who will pay for you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” He said confused.

“They... I mean, _she_... wanted documents owned by Monteleone. I found this place and I pretended to be a medical assistant... then I saw what they did to you and offered to exchange the documents for your safety. And they will, but unfortunately, I'll pay for you.”

The Lux Veritatis shook his head again, still confused, and said: “Wrong, Maddalena. You can't trust them. I told you to leave... what have you done? Give them something to ease their way... for me?”

“Stop lecturing her.” Marcus said, sleepy. “Damage's done and the girl can’t go back. I wouldn't complain if I had such a pretty woman _that_ crazy for me.”

Maddalena blushed violently and pressed closer against the cell's wall, but Kurtis said no more. She heard him moving and then noticed he was putting a soft cloth in her hand. “Cover yourself. If not, within days you’ll catch a fever and Marcus won’t be able to take care of both of us.”

“It's you who should take it...”

“No, thank you.” He cut with a mocking tone.

The cloak was wide, soft and warm. Maddalena wrapped herself in it and fell asleep while thinking how wonderful it was what Marcus just did with his hands...

 

* * *

 

“There it is.” Hugh said, exhausted. “That's the Island.”

Lara nodded, left the handcuffed man on his seat and told to the pilot: “Don’t come any closer. They could see us.”

Justin, sitting in the passenger seat, looked at her concerned.

“What about the other aircrafts?” The pilot said.

“Stay high.” Lara replied. “I'm going to jump.”

Justin unbuckled his belt and went to the fuselage’s gate, where she was adjusting the parachute over the wetsuit she wore.

“Did I already mention that's madness?”

“Not you, but Marie did a hundred thousand times.” Lara said, pointing over her shoulder to the Navajo woman, who guarded the captive spy with sulky expression. “Don't worry, Justin. If they discover me, I’ll switch on Zip’s communicator and you’ll come for rescue.”

“Are we supposed to shoot at discretion?”

Lara paused for a moment. Then she just adjusted the straps. “There are probably lots of people imprisoned in there. Don’t shoot unarmed civilians.”

“Got it. Well, girl, good luck. Hope that Kurtis is worth the risk we're taking!”        

 _Oh_ _yes,_ _he's_ _worth it_ , thought Lara as she opened the gate and fixed her gaze on the wide sea in which she was going to sink, _of_ _course_ _he_ _’_ _s_ _worth_ _it_.

 

* * *

 

She fell for a few meters with arms and legs stretched out, and at some point opened the parachute. The water hit her hard, and soon she'd detached the chute pack and was diving at full speed toward the Island, hoping no one had seen her fall.

The closer she got, the more fascinated she felt with the untouched appearance of this rocky outcrop. While swimming, she kept thinking how great was the perseverance of those bastards... they had been defeated twice and regenerated like a severed liver. It was time to finish them... forever.

After a while and feeling already exhausted, she saw the rocks of the cliff, the foundations of the Island. She plunged further and looking up towards the surface, she noticed someone throwing something to the water from the cliffs - something like elongated bundles wrapped in strips of cloth. She quickly deduced what it was when a group of sharks pounced on them and tore through them with their teeth... the water instantly turned red and she thought she'd seen a human arm floating in the water.

 _At_ _least_ , she thought in disgust, _these_ _poor_ _wretches_ _will_ _get_ _the_ _sharks_ _away_ _from_ _me._

Lara swam until the flow dragged her into a kind of inner cavern. Out of the water, she spat out the nozzle for the oxygen tank and left it against the rock. She groped her way through the slippery rock and lit a flare. The British explorer had no idea about where she was going, but logic told her that if there was a vulnerable point in that particular Alcatraz, it must be this one.

She walked through a narrow tunnel slipping with moisture, and after a while, she bumped against thick iron bars. A prison? She couldn't go further - to access, she would've had to blow it and that meant being heard. Then Lara thought better and risked to call.

“Hello!” She said. “Hello! Anyone can hear me? Is this a dungeon?”

 _You silly_ , she scorned herself, _of_ _course_ _it's_ _a_ _dungeon..._

“Lara?”

She would've recognized that deep voice, now broken by pain, among thousands of voices around the world. It was Kurtis’ voice.

 

* * *

 

 _“_ _Kurtis!”_ She yelled, peering through the bars, but she couldn’t see anything beyond her own nose. A blast of stinking hot air struck her in the face. “Where are you?”

“You too, Lara!? Have you gone completely crazy?” His voice sounded distant, and apparently something prevented him for coming near, since she still didn’t see him.

Suddenly, an old man’s voice sounded, someone she didn’t know: “Are you another woman in love with this martyr of the Order? For then we’ll be four down here...”

“Lara!” It was Kurtis again. “What are you doing here?”

“Cut it out.” She growled. “I haven’t come alone...”

“A rescue!” Jumped the old man, excited. “You hear? They’ve come to save us! Wake up the beautiful redhead; we've got to tell her...”

Lara step back from the bars, bewildered. _Redhead?_ “How many are you there?”

“Three.” Gasped Kurtis. “The one you can hear is Marcus, and there’s also Madd... Giulia. We’re in a cell complex enough away from where you are, we can hear but not see you. And we can’t come closer.”

She nodded. “I’ll have to blow up the entr...”

 _“_ _Don_ _’_ _t!”_

“Son, I know you enjoy playing the martyr's role,” Marcus groaned, “but I wouldn’t mind to be rescued. And so this pretty girl, huh?”

Kurtis sighed, frustrated. “If you blow up the entrance, within minutes they will come. Lara, there must be another way...”

Suddenly they heard a metallic screech. The dungeons’ door opened and at the time, a hated and feared voice rang in the dark. “What the hell’s the meaning of all this racket?” Giacomo Sciarra shouted.

 

* * *

 

Radha climbed to the window using just her right hand - the left one was so swollen she even couldn’t scratch herself - and scanned the serene sky.

One moment ago, a matter of minutes, she'd just seen a shadow falling from the sky and landing in the sea. Of course, all this would've seemed a vision to her village people, but those people hadn't seen the sea as she was seeing it now and, if there was a vast expanse of water so blue and so pure, sure there were shadows that fell from the sky and crashed into waves.

The Indian girl had been on the lookout for if she saw more shadows. She wanted to confirm her theory, so she waited patiently but saw nothing. When she was about to leave, disappointed, she noticed something in the clouds. They were like birds... huge birds, with stiff wings. Radha had good eyesight and sensed that those birds weren't normal. She stared open-mouthed at things no one had been privileged to glimpse into her village.

What Radha was seeing were British Army aircrafts.

“You like them?”

Letting out a shriek, the Indian girl broke loose and fell, overturning the stool she was supporting in. She turned and began to tremble.

There, in one corner, was the beautiful lady who sometimes visited her - especially at night. Radha feared her more than the evil woman who'd cut her fingers, because she spent minutes staring at her in silence and smiling - and that was creepy. Worst thing was she'd no idea how the lady came in. The door never opened when she went in there.

Radha stood still while the Lady approached, her sandals making a soft sound when touching the floor. She withdrew the curtain with her fingertips and scanned the sky. “Aircrafts, Radha.” She whispered softly. “Specifically, war aircrafts. These are machines that people use to fly... mortal people who claim to enjoy a skill that nature hasn’t given to them.” She dropped the curtain. “You know who are on those aircrafts, Radha?”

The kid didn't answer. She watched her in silence.

“Friends of your beloved Lara. She has come to rescue both you and Kurtis. Now she’s in the cells trying to find a way to release the prisoners.”

Radha continued looking at her with that anguished face, typical of those who have suffered in silence for a long time.

“Yes, dear child, you were right. She has come. But I fear she won’t make it.”

“Leave her alone!” That was a cry of anger, resentment. The girl had risen.

Bathsheba looked at her: “Oh yes, I intend to leave her alone, little one. Yes, I’ll leave her really, _really_ _alone...”_ She smiled coldly while Radha glared at her. “You want to go with her?”

“Yes.”

And then the door opened. No one had opened it - the bars simply withdrew by themselves and slowly separated from the metal jamb, revealing the empty hallway.

Bathsheba extended her arm. “Go. Run, little one. You may have chance to meet and greet her...”

Radha didn’t think twice - her heart and mind, still childish despite the early maturity of her body, didn’t see the hatched deception and threw herself at full speed down the hall. When she realized, in horror, she didn’t know where to go in that huge building, she stopped, stunned, and then she heard again the beauty's sibilant voice: “If I were you, I wouldn't waste time. It may be your last chance to see her... before I take her away.”

The metal door slammed shut, preventing her from returning to her room. Bathsheba was gone, and Radha was alone in the hallway. Free, but not knowing where to go.

 

* * *

 

“Doctor...” Ralph looked hesitant and frightened at his boss. The rest of the staff who contributed to Giselle's experiments was there in the boardroom: alternative medical assistants, orderlies, scullery - all in awe, looking at her. “Doctor.” Ralph repeated, clearing his throat. “Let me tell you... this is absurd. Patients are alone in their chambers and...”

“The doors are closed and locked, right?” Giselle replied dryly, raising her green eyes from the table.

“Yes, but...”

“Then they can’t leave there. Security systems are operative and guards are in place.”

“But...”

Giselle sighed, rolling her eyes blank. She rose gracefully from her chair and rested her hands on the table. A focus light from the ceiling was making her shine so white and blonde. “Have I ever given you any reason to mistrust me? In what have I missed you? In what have I disappointed you?”

“In nothing, Doctor.” Hastened to say another scientist, who'd great admiration for Giselle.

“If you all place such confidence in me - and I'm human and I can be wrong - the more you should trust my daughter, who isn't human and therefore doesn't make mistakes. If she has said the Island will be attacked and we must take refuge and stay here, so be it. Got it?”

Everyone nodded, and then Giselle left the room and closed the door. With a discreet movement, she locked and keyed the security code.

In the corridor she met Schäffer, who was waiting patiently.

“Are all your men warned and at their positions?” She asked.

“Yes, Mistress. Except for that spitfire Sciarra, I'm afraid he’s walking through the cells.”

 _“_ _She_ _’_ _s_ _there_.” A soft voice murmured. Bathsheba had appeared close to them. She wore a long white dress with wide sleeves and a golden cloak with hood. Giselle had never understood her flamboyance in dress; rather than get a modern attire to avoid suspicion, she preferred to dress like a feudal lady of the Middle Ages. The doctor thought the Nephilim might feel more comfortable with clothes that allowed her to hide her delicate face, as Karel had always felt comfortable wearing black.

Neither needed to ask who she meant by _"she"._

“That Italian goon caused all sorts of problems since I took him for service.” Muttered Schäffer. “I don’t know, Lady, what you saw in him. Yes, he's strong and relentless, but he's tolerated very little discipline. He spends his free time picking fights between my men when he doesn’t go down to the dungeon to annoy the prisoners. Not that I complain about this, but I'm not used to giving so much freedom to one of mine...”

Bathsheba stopped him by raising a hand. “Giacomo Sciarra is, like Giulia Manfredi, an essential piece in my game. Both are in place on the board, and where they are placed is where I want to see them. Don't question me, Adolf.”

He bowed respectfully. “Never, my Lady.” Then he reached out with the secret hope of touching her fingers, but she pulled her white hand back and made it disappear into the sleeve fold.

“Heaven knows I allow this because I believe in you.” Giselle muttered then. “But I don’t understand the purpose of this pantomime. Let's catch that insolent bitch and give her an exemplary punishment before her lover's eyes.”

“That's what you would do, Mother, but be patient. Lara Croft has carved her own perdition, as Kurtis Trent. She's fallen into the trap because she’s clouded with human passions.”

“And did you need to use Hugh as bait?” Giselle. “What if that British hag kills our best spy? He’s very dear to me!”

Bathsheba smiled, baring her white teeth. “Gertrude was very dear to me also, _Mother_.” She hissed.

The doctor paled, upset, but before she could answer Schäffer said: “My Lady, when should I give my men the order to intervene?”

“Lara Croft will decide.” The Nephilim smiled, mysterious.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell does all this hubbub mean, huh?” The Italian growled. “You want another session with the press, to see if you stop howling?” He went on, turning on lights, and froze when seeing Maddalena huddled on the floor and wrapped in a beautiful cloak. The woman had woken up and looked at him with an expression between fearful and surprised _._ _“Mamma mia_ _!_ The slutty redhead! You came to serve our guests?”

 _“Vaffanculo_ _!”_ She hissed.

Sciarra, in reply, came up brandishing the bar. “Now I'll show you who rules here...”

“Hey, you!” Cried a voice near the cave. “Why don't you mess with someone your own size?”

The Italian paused, surprised, and as he approached, he saw Lara through the bars.

 _“_ _Mamma_ _mia!”_ He mocked again. “It's a fucking family reunion! You care if your friend Sciarra entertains you for a little while?”

“Doesn't look like you can do much through these bars.” Lara triggered him.

“Watch this, _puttana_ _!”_ Sciarra wasn’t very clever and the little intelligence he had was spoiled when triggered. He fell easily into the trap and pulled out a false bar - the only weakness of the gate. He threw the bar down and said: “Come here you fucking bitch - if you dare!”

Lara dared. She slipped through the gap and ducked in time to dodge the first blow. Then she headbutted and knocked down her opponent.

Maddalena had stood and watched the scene with wide eyes. Above the metal rings of Sciarra’s bar she could hear Marcus whispering: “Son, if you don’t try now, it will be late!”

“I know.” Kurtis whispered, exhausted.

 _Try_ _what?_

Lara was struggling with Sciarra, trying to snatch the bar. He was stronger, but she was swift and pulled him off with a kick in the stomach. The Italian rolled on the floor.

“Well done!” Marcus cried, enthusiastic. “Beat him for me, darling!”

“Giulia, get away.” Kurtis said, standing in front of the cell’s door.

“What are you up to...?”

Then a shriek pierced the air. Sciarra had been hit on the groin. It was enough for Lara to push him back and grab the bar. “You're all talk.” She gasped. Her lip was bleeding. “I beat you once and I won again.”

Suddenly, he stood up and ran to the door.

“Don’t let him raise the alarm!” Marcus shouted frantically.

Lara went behind him, but he'd slipped away.

“Go after him, honey! He’ll bring the others!”

She nodded and disappeared down the corridor. It all had happened so fast she'd no time to notice the prisoners, all the while she'd been guided by their voices.

At that moment the cell door violently disengaged from its hinges and crashed against the opposite wall. Maddalena screamed in terror. “What was that?”

“Congratulations!” Marcus shouted. “Now my turn!”

Kurtis nodded and after a few seconds, also the other cell door went flying. Then he stumbled and fell, exhausted, as if he'd trouble in breathing.

“ _Dio_ _!”_ The redhead screamed again horrified. “What’s happening?” But nobody listened to her.

The old man sped away from his cell and patted Kurtis’ shoulder. “Perfect, perfect! That was pretty nice considering your weakness. Although you could've done this from the beginning...”

“We had no chance before.” The American gasped. “Now, if it's as she says...”

Maddalena was looking one to another, without understanding anything. She just knew they had to move, since apparently her only option was no longer to be tortured and die to save the man she loved. The _other_ woman had come to save him by herself.

“Turn off that bloody light.” Kurtis grumbled to the old man. “It's burning my eyes - and I'd rather Lara not see me like _this_.”

“If she manages to save our skins, she’ll end up seeing you anyway.” Marcus obeyed and looked to the hallway. “Uh-oh. Here she comes.”

Lara's shadow appeared in the gloom. Kurtis recoiled instinctively, hiding himself in the dark.

“He escaped!” The British explorer muttered, wiping blood from her mouth. “That Italian closed a door in my face and has blocked it. We're now at their mercy.”

“You shouldn’t have risked yourself.” Kurtis murmured.

“I wasn’t willing to let him beat you...” Then Lara noticed the woman beside Marcus and muttered. “ _Maddalena?_   What on earth...?”

The redhead just stared back at her with her serene amber eyes. Lara felt an unpleasant tingling in the neck, as if looking up from her bed sheet and finding a snake there. What was _she_ doing there?

The old man cleared his throat: “Darling, time will come for presentations. You've now to think how to get outta here, because this coward will alert the entire Island, so I propose to proceed by way of the cave. We can go around the Island by the rocky coast. Will give us time.”

“I can’t swim!” Maddalena cried, aghast.

“And I hardly remember how to.” Marcus scoffed. “But as I can’t go through walls, I'll have to try my chances.”

Lara sighed and said: “I've a British Army aircraft unit hovering over the Island. They'd better not to threaten us.”

The redhead groaned and Marcus laughed dryly.

“I expected you'd do something like that.” Kurtis said.

“That’s fantastic! Brother, I really like this new friend of yours. C'mon!” Marcus started walking towards the grotto. “Let's take a race to those sharks!”

“Sh ... sharks?” Maddalena gasped. Suddenly, the idea of escaping didn’t seem so nice to her.


	32. The Prophecy

Zip hadn’t spent two hours asleep when a strange sound woke him - sounded like someone moaning. He opened his eyes, startled, but all he saw was his open laptop and those stunning girls parading one after another in the screensaver presentation. He was closing his eyes again when he heard the groan again, louder this time. Someone was crying in the next room.

The hacker got up quietly, put on his pants and walked cautiously into the hall. Just as he suspected, the groans came from Selma’s room. He knocked softly on the door, and then they stopped. “Princess? Are you there?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Selma’s hoarse voice said: “Go away. Leave me alone.”

Zip scratched his neck. “You've already woken me up - _and_ don’t think I could sleep knowing you're crying on the other side of this wall.”

Having no answer but silence, the man opened the door and entered. In the darkened room, the Turkish archaeologist was sitting on the floor beside the bed, hugging her knees with her face buried in them. He came and sat beside her, after checking she was wearing a nightgown. “Umm... so.” He coughed. “What's with the night time serenade?”

Selma raised her face, wet with tears. “Do you always joke about everything?”

Zip shrugged. “That's just me. I need to make jokes. My life's crap and making fun of everything makes my shitty world better.”

The girl smiled. She remained silent another moment and then she whispered: _“_ _Al_ _Jazeera...”_

“What? Pardon me, princess, but “learning Turkish” is still among my pending tasks.”

She laughed. “It’s not Turkish, it’s Arabic! Al-Jazeera. My last name.”

“Hey, the TV channel!”

Despite the gloom, Zip saw she was glaring at him. _“_ _The_ _TV_ _channel!_ Everyone tells me the same thing! Al-Jazeera is a name older than any television or media. When Muhammad delivered Allah's words to the Arabian tribes, that name already existed, naming the clans most exalted among the Saudis.”

“Ok, got it. Not gonna screw it up again. Why did you say that?”

Selma's head lay back on the knees. “You know what _Al-Jazeera_ means in Arabic?”

“Not yet, but I bet I will soon.”

She smiled again. She wasn't crying anymore. “My father wasn't Turkish - he was Saudi, born in one of the noblest and exalted families of Arabia. He wasn’t from the royalty nor was linked to the television channel, but he was rich. He went to Turkey, searching for a less oppressive place. You know, in Turkey, things are different. Arabia's a beautiful haven for men and their rights, but a hell for women. Things happen... But why talk about it? You all know!” For once, Zip said nothing. Selma stood up and continued talking. “He'd grown up watching his mother and sisters in a situation bordering on slavery. They lacked nothing except freedom - freedom to go wherever they want, freedom to marry whoever they want, freedom to have children or not, freedom to speak... none of it was allowed. Things went well, but my father, who was an exceptional man, brought those memories with him. There he met Nilufer, my mother, who studied archaeology and was among the first Turkish women's group, along with some men, who began to own their lives.” She twisted a lock of hair away. “It wasn't an easy life she lived. Nor mine. She taught me the passion for archaeology. I've fought so hard for this cause! And now... what do I have?” She buried her head on her knees and sobbed again.

“Hey, princess, c'mon...that's not true...”

“Island.”

“What?”

She'd raised her head again, and smiled bitterly. _“_ _Island_. That’s what my last name means. An island. Lost, isolated in the ocean... nothing to see, nothing to hold on, but water... My father was an island and I’m an island. And I’ll always be alone.”

The crying got worse. Zip, for once, didn’t know what to say nor had he a good joke at hand to alleviate the situation. “Your father wasn't alone. He found Nilufer. And you...”

“I had my Ahmad and they took him away from me. He was murdered. I found him lying near the entrance of the excavation... All my friends, dead. I've nothing left. They don’t even let me dig.”

“You've done a lot – you've helped Lara, you've helped Kurt. Things could've been ugly for them without you. You've solved stuff with the Turkish government, ain't that right?”

“And what am I doing now, here, waiting while others fight for their loved ones. Am I so useless and cowardly I’m only able to wait?”

“Nope! What about the brave heroine who fought the manticores and chased them away?”

Selma laughed again. How beautiful she was when she laughed, when those eyes shone so dark, so black. “I was scared to death then. I'm not like Lara or Kurtis - they're strong. Not me.”

“You're different, Selma. What the hell... if we need to be scared stiff to survive, so what? You’re helping. We're helping, you, Vlad and me. In our own way.” He moved closer to her and casually began to withdraw the damp dark locks of hair stuck to her cheeks. “When I first saw you I thought you were the cutest thing in the world.” He admitted. “Yeah I'm a jerk and maybe you don’t care but it's the truth. You were so pretty and so sweet in your loneliness. I wanted to kill that Italian sick fuck for touching you.”

The Turkish girl leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered: “Don’t remind me of that, please.”

He was kissing her neck. Slowly, his dark fingers slid down both her neck and her soft black hair, in a completely different way as Sciarra had done. She shuddered.

“Sorry for your Ahmad, princess... but you can’t waste all your life crying. Selma the Island... that island must disappear. You won’t be alone anymore. You're young and pretty, and I like you very much. No more tears, okay?”

Selma muttered under her breath a few incoherent words, and suddenly felt his mouth on hers. Why feel guilty? Hadn't it been two years or so she'd spent weeping and wailing? Was it not time to lift her head? She was young and life was still ahead. Twenty-five years! She was very young. It was terrible what the Cabal had done to her life, her love, her project, but she had to prove they hadn’t completely trampled her. While she still had the strength, she’d fight.

And she silently apologized to Ahmad, her distant Ahmad whom she'd shared life and home, and whose face was fading in the distance, while Zip’s dark fingers began to slide under her clothes, feeling the warm skin of her belly and her breasts. How long since she'd made love for the last time, no one looking at her as a woman? She was seductive but she wanted someone to love her, for what she was, for what she wanted to be.

_Forgive_ _me,_ _Ahmad,_ _for_ _what_ _I'm_ _doing_ _._ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _be_ _like_ _this_ _any_ _longer._

They made love in silence, holding their breath, in case Vlad, who was walking his insomnia by the library, heard them. And for once Zip knew himself as more than a Bronx kid, laid-back and always joking; whose only life and love were computers. With respect and almost touching devotion he approached to the Turk's golden body, wondering what fate had brought him to that beautiful creature of velvety eyes, so lonely and so unhappy. He kissed her mouth, thick and soft, with a sharp tongue, while her black hair covered him like a veil.

At orgasm, it broke through Selma’s eyes all the helplessness that gnawed inside her. She cried for the last time, leaning on his shoulder.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked, worried.

She smiled. “No. Not at all.”

 

* * *

 

They finally slept peacefully, embraced, for almost the entire night. It was near dawn when Zip heard Ivanoff talking with someone. He arose slowly to not wake Selma, put on his pants and left the hall. The voices came from the library.

“Next time you come, brother,” Vlad was saying, “knock on the door. You scared me to death.”

“My brothers used to move with stealth, and I try to learn from them.” A youthful voice replied calmly.

Beside the Romanian professor was Pancratios, the young novice with blond hair and angelic appearance, who nevertheless was around Zip’s age.

“Are you alone?” Ivanoff asked.

“Three brothers are with me, waiting outside the castle.”

Zip came and nodded; he rubbed his hands - it was cold and he went barefoot, and said: “Bad news from Meteora?”

The novice nodded gravely. “Our beloved _hegumenos_ is dying.”

A shocked silence fell over the room. Nikos Kavafis was only thirty years old, and had hardly been _hegumenos_ since the death of the endearing Minos.

“The demon sent by that witch, cursed be her name, is finally killing him.” Continued Pancratios. “Wish we could talk to him before he returns to the Lord, but the evil spirit has said he won’t leave him unless I deliver a message to you.”

Ivanoff looked stunned. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of the nose and whispered: “I beg your pardon?”

At that time Selma entered. She was wearing her nightgown and had her hair dishevelled. She stood in the doorway and looked expectantly at the men present. “The creature within him insisted I should communicate something.” Continued the novice. “Since you’re the only ones I’ve been able to locate...”

“God!” Exclaimed Selma. “Tell us the message!”

At that time, Pancratios seemed to hesitate. He staggered, dazed, and before falling to the ground Selma and Zip held him while Vlad approached holding a chair.

“Sorry.” The young monk mumbled. “I'm exhausted, but everything is for God's glory and the good of my brothers...”

They put a glass of water in his hand and he drank it down instantly. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

“Well?” Zip said, a little nervous. “What's the message?”

Pancratios rubbed his temples. “They’re the Evil One’s words, cursed be Him...”

“Please!” Selma insisted. “It’s important!”

He nodded and said: “That damned told us: _Although_ _two_ _will_ _shed_ _their_ _blood_ _at_ _the_ _feet_ _of_ _the_ _Great_ _Mother,_ _it_ _will_ _be_ _seven_ _going through_ _the_ _Bitter_ _Path:_ _the_ _Warrior_ _and_ _the_ _Amazon,_ _the_ _Impure_ _and_ _the_ _Innocent,_ _the_ _Wise_ _and_ _the_ _Angel,_ _and_ _also_ _the_ _Hidden One._ _This_ _has_ _told_ _the_ _Voice_ _in_ _the_ _Darkness:_ _among_ _the_ _two_ _who_ _shed_ _their_ _blood,_ _only_ _one_ _could_ _be_ _redeemed,_ _and_ _will be_ _redeemed_ _by_ _the_ _will_ _of_ _the_ _Goddess._ _But_ _woe_ _to_ _them_ _if_ _they_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _please_ _the_ _Ineffable:_ _none_ _of_ _them_ _will_ _again_ _see_ _the_ _light_ _of_ _mortals.”_

There was silence.

“Creepy stuff.” Zip muttered.

“Is it a prophecy?” Selma asked, pale as the walls.

“Sure it is!” Vlad gasped. “Didn't he say more? Any hints on whom...?”

Selma moved towards Vlad and put a hand on his arm. “Obviously, Kurtis is the Warrior and Lara's the Amazon!” She said. “But the others ...!”

_Why_ _is she_ _upset?_ Zip wondered, _she_ _wouldn't be_ _one_ _of_ _them!_ _Nobody would_ _hurt_ _her!_

“That's all.” Pancratios concluded, throwing back his hood over his head. “May God forgive me for being a messenger of the Devil, but our _hegumenos_ needs rites and we wish him to end his days as a man of integrity and a Christian.”

“And what about that prophecy?” Zip said, somewhat annoyed. “Don’t you care?”

The novice crossed himself. “I don’t know. Maybe it's a hoax. It's just an evil spirit. They lie and make you suffer so to give glory to the demons. Now I must go. My place is in Meteora, together with our _hegumenos_.” He left the room in silence, without looking back, leaving the other three looking at each other stunned.

Selma fell on the couch. “I'd give the greatest credit to this prophecy. It’s a warning... or a threat. The Bitter Path... Any idea about that, Vlad?”

“Just the name scares me stiff.” Zip said.

Vlad was sitting on another couch and held his head in his hands, hurt because of so little sleep and so much thinking and thinking. “Don’t know what the Bitter Path is, Selma... I’m educated but not like that. Although I’m afraid that...” He murmured at last. “I just hope that the Wise who must walk along this path isn't me. I hope that name wouldn’t refer to me.”

Zip was alarmed. “What in the hell are you talkin' about, man!”

Selma leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes painfully. Vlad smiled bitterly. “I see you understand, child.”

“I don’t get _shit_ _!”_   Zip howled, and crossed his arms over his dark chest.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the professor's heavy breathing. Through the closed shutters of the windows daylight was breaking.

“Zip.” Vlad said at last. “I think we must play this game, all of us.”

“Not all of us.” Selma stated. “Only a few ones.”

Zip ran his hand over his face. “Princess.. _.”_

She smiled benevolently. “If we are to believe that being’s words, apparently not only Lara and Kurtis will be the ones to descend into the Vortex.” And seeing the horrified glance of the hacker, she nodded. “Ah, yes. Now you understand.”

 

* * *

 

The waves hit the rocks violently. The sound was deafening as it reverberated throughout the cave. Lara closed her eyes and leaned against the rock. She felt dizzy.

Beside her, Marcus leaned on Maddalena’s arm, who watched the agitated waves wide-eyed. Kurtis was behind them, also leaning on the wall. Lara couldn’t see him clearly.

The British explorer felt the back pocket of her wetsuit and pulled out the communicator. She activated it and said: “Justin? You receive me?”

After interference, she heard the soldier’s distorted voice: “I receive you, Lara. They seem to have detected our presence, despite us being hidden above the clouds. However, we haven’t decided to attack.”

“I've already found the prisoners! You'll have to send the helicopter to descend to the grotto of the back of the Island, where we are.”

After another pause, Justin said: “It’s very risky, Lara. They could swing it.”

“There's no choice. One of the prisoners is elderly and there's another who doesn’t know how to swim. You’re my only chance.”

“Okay, we'll try. Hold on.”

The line went dead and then Lara turned to the others. “A helicopter will come for us, but it can’t come down so close to the cliff. We'll have to go swimming and clinging on to the rocks outside.”

Maddalena paled, but said nothing. She didn’t want to seem a coward.

“Well, here we go.” Marcus coughed, and clinging to the rock, began to plunge into the water. For that man who hadn't seen beyond of his cell for months, either end was better than to remain there. He began to move, always clinging to the roughness of the cave wall.

Thus they began wading while sticking to the outside of the cave, and when both Marcus and Maddalena were hardly something away, Lara turned to Kurtis and whispered softly: “What have they done to you, Kurtis? Why don’t you let me see you? You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“I can’t go this way, Lara.” He said in reply. The thought of that salty water seeping across his hands' fractures and all the other wounds, scrapes and burns he had all over his whole body was really unbearable.

Then he noticed Lara approaching him and felt her warm breath. He stepped back.

“Don’t move away from me! I'm _not_ leaving without you! I'll help the others, of course, but it's _you_ I came for!”

At that time Maddalena, who was somewhat apart, cleared her throat and said: “They have a teenager, almost a child, who claimed to know about you... does the name Radha mean anything to you?”

Lara turned sharply. “Have you seen her?”

“She was locked in a chamber on the upper floors.”

“I’ll look for her!”

Kurtis shook his head: “You can’t leave them alone. I won’t go this way. I'll search for her.”

“Don’t _do_ this to me!” Lara lowered her voice, hissing through her teeth. “For heaven's sake, Kurtis, don’t do this...!”

“For once, Lara, I'll be more stubborn than you. Trust me.”

“You’re wounded and sick! You think I didn’t notice?”

“I’ll go with him.” Maddalena solemnly chimed.

Lara turned slowly and looked at the redhead woman, who had her back against the wall and watched sideways at them. She was numb with cold, was wearing only a wrong buttoned blouse and shorts, her hair scrambled and her face pale, but her glance was firm and resolute. “I’ve been working here for weeks.” She continued. “I know the corridors and areas, all floors and exits. I've a map of this fortress in my head. We'll go for the girl, and then we’ll find another way to escape. I prefer that to drowning.”

Although she spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, Lara’s sharp glance cut her like a knife. She shuddered and looked down, repenting of having crossed a line not known to have existed.

“Guess there’s no choice.” Lara broke in the end, making a grimace. She turned to the shadow that was Kurtis. “Please, take care. I couldn’t bear... to fail again.” She turned abruptly and went towards Marcus. As she passed next to Maddalena, she gave her another sidelong glance. Was it a warning... or a threat?

 

* * *

 

“So she’s down there.” Schäffer said. “And you just run away.”

Sciarra grimaced. “I hastened to inform my superiors, as we’re supposed to do.”

The mercenary leader gestured contemptuously and added: “For almost an hour several aircrafts and a chopper have been hovering over the island. Your information is certainly _valuable_ but late.”

His men were around, some smiling discreetly. It was time, they thought, the boss teach that cocky bastard a good lesson.

“Are we not going to attack?” Sciarra said.

“They will attack when I order so.” Schäffer replied dryly. “As far as I know, Adolf Schäffer and _not_ Giacomo Sciarra is the head of the Agency.”

Happy faces. Sciarra triturated them with his gaze.

“As for you,” the boss continued, “you're more a nuisance than a help. You'll go down to the dungeons again and take care of the situation. I’m sending two men with you. If an oldster, a tortured man and two women can defeat you, you’re not worth it at all.” This time a few laughs were heard. “Silence!” Schäffer bellowed turning to their ranks. Then he went on. “Glenn, Ratford, go with Sciarra.”

The infuriated Italian went down the halls again, while those two, muttering under their breath, followed him - if they were mocking him, they better be prepared.

 

* * *

 

They had spent five minutes patrolling the corridors while heading towards the area of prison, when Sciarra heard a sound of hurried footsteps, like bare feet padding against the ground. Far away in the back of the hall, they saw a figure dressed in a sort of hospital gown. A patient had escaped! It was a girl of 14 years, with Asian features, who stopped and stared at them aghast. “Quick!” Roared Sciarra.

The girl screamed at seeing them and turned around, running - and she ran really fast, tall and thin as she was.

“Come here, you bitch!”

_Radha!_ _Come_ _here,_ _you hussy_ _!_ The Indian girl shuddered with horror when that hated voice overlapped the cries of the mercs. But it couldn’t be - he was very, very far away.

She reached a door, opened it with a yank and found the stairs. Blind with panic, she rushed upon them. In the third step one of her bare foot slipped on the cold marble stairs and rolled under, landing on the second floor. A liquid fire broke out at the base of her skull and felt a burning liquid run down her chin. She opened her eyes and saw drops of blood on the floor. She'd bitten her own lip when falling.

“What the hell is this?” A stern female voice boomed.

Radha looked up and there was the evil woman, looking at her with cold green eyes. The three mercs were next to her.

“Doctor.” Sciarra was quick to explain. “The boss had commanded us to patrol, and we found this patient has escaped.”

“Fine.” Giselle chimed. “I'll take care of her. Keep up your way.”

They nodded and went downstairs. When the sound of their boots faded, the doctor grabbed the bewildered teen by her hair and stood her at a stretch. “Speak, little slut!” She shouted, shaking her. “Who released you? Is it true? Sure! _She_ released you, dammit!”

Radha moaned with a mouth full of blood... she was pulling her hair!

“I'll teach you!” The blonde hissed, dragging her upstairs. “I'll teach you! And there's another one that will hear me...”

The Indian girl had no hope but she continued screaming with all her force with a high-pitched voice - her screams echoed through the walls and beat the blast doors. The echoes came and went in a moment. Then Giselle silenced her with a slap.

 

* * *

 

“I heard someone screaming!” Maddalena said, touching Kurtis’ arm.

He nodded - so did he. But he was more concerned about the sound of approaching boots and discussion among three voices...one of them was Sciarra’s. He pressed himself against the wall and she placed herself by his side.

“How I hate that man!” The woman muttered.

“That makes two of us.”

Now the voices were just around the corner.

“Why hell you have to go instead of us, huh?”

“'Cause I've more balls than you, _figlio_ _di_ _putana_.”

“What did you say, motherfucker?”

“Stop this shit! The boss told us three...”

“You think I need a pair of jerks to brush for two women, an oldster and a wretch who can’t stand on his feet?”

“One of them made you run away, asshole!”

Sciarra stopped short and faced the other one. They were right on the edge of the corner. “You calling me _what_ _?”_

“Asshole might be!”

“What's wrong with you two! Stop...!”

Kurtis turned back to Maddalena and whispered: “I need you to be my hands, Giulia. When I tell you, you run to the middle of the hallway. I saw a metal door ajar. Open it and hide yourself behind it, but keep it open, okay?”

She nodded and tried to control her trembling legs. Beside the discussion continued, and it was deafening.

“The darling of the Italian mafia! Here you’re no one, sucker! Deal with it!”

“I'm gonna crush your face, fag!”

“Fag's your fucking father!”

Sciarra threw himself on the other and started punching him. The other began to kick him. They grabbed each other by the neck.

“The Cabal’s pride, yes sir!” Mocked the third, with a grimace of disgust while turning the corner. “You can kill each other if you want...”

He didn’t see the blow arriving. Kurtis elbow hit his temple and fell to the ground.

“Now!” The Lux Veritatis cried.

The two mercs were still fighting when Maddalena streaked by them, dishevelled, heading for the door ajar. They stopped immediately.

“Hey!” Yelled Sciarra. “If it isn't the fuck...!”

Something hit him in the back and the next moment he was kissing the ground. He noticed a crack in the mouth and four teeth broke off from their place.

Kurtis ran over him at the time Maddalena reached the door, opened it and stood shielded behind her. She saw clearly all that followed.

The other merc raised the submachine gun to hit Kurtis. Maddalena cried... but the blow didn’t fall. He remained with the weapon held high, a few inches from Kurtis, looking at him with horror, completely immobile.

The Lux Veritatis went back slowly, panting, while Sciarra, grunting in pain,  rose spitting bits of teeth in the middle of a mass of blood and saliva.

“Shoot him, asshole!” Gurgled through his broken gums. “Shoot him!”

The other didn’t move. Kurtis pivoted and hurried to close the door - then he saw Maddalena’s widened eyes.

“No!” She shrieked in horror, and reached her hand. “Kurtis, bewar...!”

He didn’t turn fast enough. There was a _bang_ and then a stabbing, sharp pain, went through his collarbone area, just on the opposite side where Gunderson had stabbed him with the Periapt Shard, two years before.

Maddalena cried when seeing Kurtis fall, and forgetting the role entrusted to her, ran towards him - who was slipping to the ground, leaving a trail of blood on the wall, grabbed him by the arms and dragged him towards the door.

Sciarra could've killed them both at that moment - but it wasn't his style. He liked to enjoy tormenting his prey, to have some fun with them. He got up, spitting blood, and looked with scorn at the dead merc on the floor, and the other one who, when he'd just hurt Kurtis, had regained his mobility as if by magic and fled screaming with terror down the hall.

A trail of blood went until the door, closed abruptly. The Italian reloaded the gun and came running in time to hear the thick bolt. “Maddalena!” He sang. _“Bella puttana!_ Why don’t you open the door?” He spat another tooth and hissed: “You really like this guy, huh? Maybe he fucks better? Shame, I'm gonna kill him anyway! Open!”

The redhead wasn't listening. She'd placed Kurtis sitting against the wall and was now frantically tearing one sleeve of her blouse and rendering it into strips to patch the gunshot wound, which was bleeding in spurts.

Kurtis opened his eyes. “Shit!” She heard him murmuring. “Just asking for something to work for once!”

Sciarra fired a volley against the door. Maddalena watched with horror how the metal surface was printed with hundreds of small bumps. He fired again and this time some got a little punch.

“Don’t care!” The Italian yelled. “Can wait for him to bleed to death! Then you'll be mine and scream like the bitch you are!”

Maddalena closed her eyes tightly - she'd never felt so scared. Before, in the shadow of Monteleone, Giacomo Sciarra had been his favourite, an undesirable swine who treated women worse than dogs. But she had always been untouchable. She'd treated the wounds and bruises of the women raped by him, hearing them sobbing and comforting them with a pat on the back. And now the world had turned upside down and that beast was a few steps from her, and the man she loved was losing blood in her arms. “Hope you die badly and go to hell!”

Apparently, Sciarra had his ear glued to the bullet holes, because then he laughed and bellowed: “Hell's here, _carissima_ _!”_

Another burst. The bright light of the hall began to filter through light beams in the darkened room.

Kurtis peered around. It was a storage room. In a weak voice, he said to the woman: “Search the room and take whatever could serve as a weapon.”

She did it quickly, terrified, while Sciarra was still howling and kicking the door. After a while, she returned bringing a pair of scalpels and a syringe of morphine which put in her pocket.

Kurtis had been leaning against the wall with eyes closed, as if unconscious, but suddenly seemed to come out of stupor. “That door over there,” he whispered, pointing with a vague gesture a small door near the window. “, leads to an operating room. Cross it and exit by the left. It will take you to an adjacent corridor. Then you'll be alone. Find Radha.”

Maddalena shook her head violently. She didn’t even wonder how he could know that, if he'd never left the area prison before then. “I won’t leave you here, hurt and at the mercy of this beast!”

Kurtis’ blue eyes pierced her with an aggressive glance. “No time to argue with you. I can’t keep going - I won’t leave here. Now go and look for the girl. If something happens to her, you’ll be responsible. _Go_ _!”_ His tone of voice brooked no argument.

Maddalena no longer heard Sciarra’s blows and howls, but a silence only inside her. Looking at him stunned, her eyes filled with tears, furtively, as if she didn’t want to, she bent and kissed him on the mouth. Then the Italian woman moved away quickly and ran towards the door without looking back, feeling like the most despicable woman on Earth, despising herself as never before, weeping as she ran.

 

* * *

 

The chopper dropped a little more. The ladder was at hand. Lara surrounded Marcus with one arm and led him to it. “C'mon!” She urged.

The old man grabbed the ladder and began to climb with surprising agility for his age and despite being so stiff after his confinement. Lara held the ladder as he climbed.

At the top, the Lux Veritatis grabbed several arms offering him help, then collapsed on the floor.

_“_ _Marcus?”_

He looked up, shocked, at then saw the grey-haired woman. “Marie!” He exclaimed. “Marie Cornel! Is that possible?”

She raised him, helped by others, and led him to the seat. “Marcus! I thought... you were all dead!”

“Not everyone, Marie.” The old man began to cough. “Not all of us!”

“Bring a blanket!” She ordered.

One of the soldiers looked into the void and made signs to Lara. She shook her head. The noise was deafening. No, she wouldn’t come up, she was gesturing. They must withdraw the ladder and leave without her. She had something to do.

“Let her go!” Marie cried. “My son and the Indian girl are still there! Trust her!”

The ladder was withdrawn and the chopper manoeuvred upwards. In silence, Lara returned to the grotto.

 

* * *

 

Giselle pushed Radha against the wall. Then she turned furiously and shouted to nowhere in particular: “Bathsheba! Show yourself, dammit!”

Radha winced when the beauty appeared beside her. Ignoring her hysterical mother, the Nephilim caught Radha’s chin and frowned, looking at the piece of meat hanging from her bitten bloody lip. Gently, she forced Radha to take her face back and put two fingers in her mouth, feeling the edge of the wound. A sort of tickling ran the girl up and down and when the Nephilim pulled her fingers out, her lip was intact. “Be careful with the stairs, little one.” She whispered softly. “A drop through them can kill you.” Her white fingers stroked her hair, and then also her headache vanished.

“Haven’t seen you this devoted with any of my patients!” Giselle reproached.

“Stop hurting this girl.” Bathsheba said, ignoring her. “She still hasn’t completed her purpose.”

“Purpose! You and your purposes!”

“You promised you'd trust me. You loved Karel so much, yet you show little love for his daughter.”

Giselle groaned and put her hand to her temples. “Oh, stop it. Don’t talk about that. You’re what I love the most.”

“You love your experiments even more.”

“You’re an experiment!”

“Not anymore.” Bathsheba hissed. “Not anymore”.

Suddenly they heard a low rumble. Giselle sharpened her hearing. “A helicopter!”

“The British explorer is freeing Marcus.”

“Oh, great! How long must we stay still, huh?”

“Calm down, Mother. Everything's going off without a hitch.” Then she turned back to Radha and smiled. “Someone's coming for you.”

By the time her beautiful figure vanished, Maddalena crossed the threshold.

 

* * *

 

Lara ran, distressed, down the halls. She left the prison area and went upstairs, travelling around with her keen eye. White and grey. Plaster and metal. Finally she found a bloodstained hall and a dead merc on the floor. She hurried, looking at the blood stains, which came to a door riddled with bullets. She hit it, kicked it hard. The hinges, hit by shrapnel, let out a squeal before giving up, and the door fell with a crash.

Light flooded the room and then she saw him, lying against the wall.

_“_ _Kurtis!”_ She yelled and ran to kneel beside him. Now she could see him clearly. “What have they done to you!”

He was dressed only in tattered pants, so she saw the strap marks on his wrists, the burns meandering on the white skin, long and sharp, made with a blowtorch. Cuts and wounds all over his body...burnt marks from the electrodes. And the hands...

“They will pay for this!” Lara gasped in sorrow, surrounding his shoulders. “They will! Kurtis...your hands!”

The bandages made by Maddalena were soaked with blood. Lara removed them from the gunshot wound smoothly.

Suddenly he shuddered and opened his eyes. “Lara...” He muttered, looking at her as if it was the first time he saw her, as if he couldn’t believe she was there.

The British explorer was crying, tears running down her smooth cheeks, flowing from her brown eyes, mixing with the seawater still moistening her face and her braided hair. She wept in rage as her fingers probed the wound. “Hold on a bit more.” She murmured. When wiping her tears violently, her hand, soaked with his blood, stained her cheek in red. “Am I hurting you?”

“First time you ask me that.” Kurtis whispered with a weak smile.

Finally she found the bullet and removed it. Groping her backpack, Lara pulled out some bands and began to curl them tightly around his shoulder and collarbone. By touching him she noticed his skin was covered with a film of cold sweat, but he was burning with fever and shivering.

“You’re very ill.” Lara said, and cupped his face with both hands. “I took too long. I should have come before.”

“You're here. That's enough, M'lady.”

Upon hearing that title he'd changed into a loving nickname, her eyes filled again with tears. She wiped them with another slap as he said: “That fucking Italian attacked us. It was a while ago. I fear he wanted Giulia. I think I’ve sent her to her death.”

“Forget it. First I’ll get you outta here. Then I'll think about her and Radha.” Her eyes wandered around and came back to him. “You'll have to make one last effort, my love.”

He shuddered. “Gimme a moment.”

Lara sat next to him and hugged him. He was trembling. She kissed him and ran her fingers through his damp hair.

Oh, yes, they would pay for that. She'll make them pay, one by one.

“You can start whenever you want.” A soft voice hissed.

Lara looked up. Bathsheba's slender figure was facing them from the other side of the room.

 

Giselle turned sharply. “You!” She snapped, looking at Maddalena.

“Just come to take Radha with me.” The Italian replied. “Let her go.”

The doctor’s white face twitched. “Yeah, what else? Who do you think you are, damn bitch?” She advanced towards her with clenched fists. “I won’t allow you to wander through the fortress as if it were yours! This is _my_ life, _my_ project! You blew it once, you'll _never_ do it again!”

The redhead girl had no idea what that woman meant, but she was obviously angry and alienated. As the doctor approached, Maddalena pulled out a scalpel from her pants and held it up before her opponent's eyes.

Giselle stopped, threw her head back and roared with laughter: “Ha, ha, ha! You come to me with _that_! Yes, she did, she also did... and then she broke Friedrich’s neck!”

_Madre di Dio_ , thought Maddalena, terrified, _she_ _'_ _s_ _lost_ _her_ _mind!_

Giselle came forward, almost to the tip of the scalpel, and hissed: “C'mon, stab me, harlot! _Slut!_   You don't got the guts for that!”

Maddalena’s second of indecision was fatal. In those years the hatred gnawed inside Giselle had hardened, and she knew how to use strategies never before attempted. At the risk of being stabbed, she jumped towards the redhead and hit her on one side of her head, sending her against the wall. In a second the doctor was over her and snatched the scalpel from her hand, which fell to the ground. She grabbed her beautiful coppery hair and twisted it, making her scream in pain, while her other hand squeezed her throat. But Maddalena was bigger and stronger than her and sent her rolling on the floor with a push.

“Radha!” She shouted. “C'mon, get outta here!”

Giselle stretched a leg and hit Maddalena’s legs, who stumbled and fell to the ground. They began to fight back each other.

Radha watched them, terrified, not knowing what to do. Her eyes fell on the scalpel on the ground and picked it up with faltering hands, but not daring to use it. Suddenly, she saw the two women stopping squirming, and Maddalena jumped up. Giselle tried to get up, trembling, and watched with horror her left thigh. From it protruded a tiny morphine syringe, completely injected. Maddalena had sunk it into her flesh while struggling.

With a convulsive hand the scientist snatched and tossed it aside. She tried to rise, but rolled over and laid face down. Giselle raised her arm again and tried to grab Maddalena’s ankle, but then she experienced a spasm and remained completely motionless.

The redhead said nothing. She took Radha by her arm and quickly took her away.

 

* * *

 

Lara jumped up and covered Kurtis with her body. She unholstered the gun and targeted Bathsheba’s forehead.

“That will be useless.” The Nephilim said calmly.

“It'll be useful in giving me the pleasure of seeing your brains exploding.” Lara said. “Even for a moment.”

The beauty smiled. Hell, her seductive, sweet and bloody smile! How badly Lara wanted to erase it from her face!

“You’ll pay for what you've done to him.” Lara continued.

“I did nothing to him.”

“I really don't care about how innocent you think you are.”

“Ah, but think about it...! What will you do when you run out of ammo? I can’t die.” She moved a little more, wonderful in that soft and white dress. “You two are following my path like you followed my father’s. Everything is ready - now you must come with me. The Great Goddess awaits you. The Vortex awaits you.”

“Your father’s path turned against him, and we defeated him. With you, it will be the same.”

“Pride makes you reckless.”

“Come here!” Lara hissed, raising her gun. “Come and get me...!”

When Bathsheba raised her arms, she fired. The bullet hit her in the forehead, opening a hole from which it came out a silver jet, as if she'd broke open a source of liquid silver. The Nephilim stumbled and let out a cry of rage and pain. And then Lara heard a strange sucking sound and the bullet came out, rolled down her face and fell to the ground making a chiming sound. The wound closed shortly after.

“You fool!” Bathsheba gasped. “ _Fool_ _!”_ This last word was mixed with a sentence of intelligible words. At the moment it was as if something hit Lara and made her fall to her knees. The gun slipped from her hand. Bathsheba's fingers grabbed her throat and squeezed it. “Listen to this carefully!” She said in her ear. “For the power that the Divine Blood has granted me...!” But she never finished the invocation which would've sent Lara to the Vortex. Bathsheba stopped abruptly and looked up, stunned.

Kurtis had stood up and held her by the arm. “Let her go.” He commanded.

The Nephilim sat up, falling back, and shrugged him off. “Don’t touch me!” She gasped. _“N_ _e_ _ver_   lay a finger on me!

But he jumped towards her and grabbed her again, this time by the shoulders. Bathsheba started screaming.

Something unusual was happening. Lara felt a wave of heat and went back. Kurtis was wrapped in a bright orange glow and Bathsheba glowed with a clear and silver light. The Nephilim writhed and screamed, but the British explorer didn’t understand what she said. Apparently that Nephilim chant, made to repel Kurtis, bounced against him and flew off without causing any damage.

“Let me go!” Bathsheba shrieked, her eyes wide with horror. “Take your hands away from me!” She tried to get loose and writhed, tormented, as if the Lux Veritatis' hands were burning her. But it was him who was suffering atrociously, holding her with his injured hands. The pain was almost insane, but he didn’t let her go. He shook her hard while she screamed: “No! No! Let me go, damn you! That’s forbidden, forbidden! You can’t ... you can’t...!”

Lara finally began to understand. Bathsheba's glow, cool and soft, began to be absorbed by Kurtis' warm and intense aura. Little by little, the Nephilim quit struggling and gave up, trembling, as tears of frustration and helplessness began to ply her diaphanous cheeks. Kurtis didn’t ease the pressure- his hands slipped from her shoulders to her wrists and grabbed them mercilessly.

_His_ _hands._ They were no longer a mess of torn flesh and broken bones. Through the bandages, Lara noticed they were returning to be intact, whole and strong. When his aura waned – his opponent's had already died, the British explorer could clearly see his skin; so she noticed, amazed, his brands and torture wounds were gone. Even his old scars were gone. The Lux Veritatis shoulder tattoo was now intact and bright.

With a final shake, Kurtis let her go and pushed her back. Bathsheba tripped and fell, the edge of her dress raising and baring her long and beautiful legs. She crawled to the wall and leaned over it. “You... _monster!”_ She gasped, her face wet. She touched her cheeks, stunned, and embraced herself in the midst of uncontrollable tremors. “Freak! You’ve done what can’t be done! You have violated the most sacred rules! Ignoble pig...!” A sob broke her cries and she hid her face in her shoulder while her dark hair covered her like a veil.

Lara was stunned.

“I don't give a damn about your rules. That was well-deserved.” Kurtis said implacable.

As he took a step towards her, Bathsheba huddled against the wall. “Get out! Get away!” She extended her arm like a virgin who would drive off a rapist. “You've broken a pact respected by angels and demons, how dare you? Lilith's curse fall on you and those you love! There will be no mercy for you. Woe to you over all, for you’re going to shed your sullied blood until the last drop!” With one last gasp of pain, she vanished like smoke in the wind.

Lara went towards Kurtis. She touched his skin, she took his fingers, put her hand on his forehead. He was intact, healthy, restored.

“C'mon.” He said. “We've gotta find another way to escape.”

“I don’t get it, Kurtis.” She said. “And you know I hate not getting it.”

“I'll explain later. Let's move.”

 

* * *

 

Maddalena was walking hurriedly down the hall with a heavy heart, towards the place where she'd left Kurtis. Radha wasn't far behind her. They stopped short when seeing a tall and muscular man at the end of the hallway.

“Look who's coming!” Sciarra sang. “Were you looking for me, _bella_ _?”_

A burst of shrapnel rained down around them. Radha shrieked in horror. Flipping her, Maddalena moved to the first room she saw. Unfortunately for them, it was the cleaning room and the door was made of wood and glass. Terrified, they huddled together, clinging tightly to each other, feeling the approaching footsteps.

With recoil, Sciarra broke the glass, and reached his hairy paw groping for the doorknob. Suddenly inspired, Radha jumped and sank the scalpel with all her strength into his hand. There was a deafening roar and the hand, pierced through from front to back by the blade, disappeared, leaving all it touched spattered in blood.

Sciarra ripped out the scalpel with another howl and, mad with rage, attacked the door, which yielded to his weight. He rushed in like a waterspout and grabbed Radha by the neck, raised her as if she was a doll and threw her against a shelf. There was a crash and the girl fell to the ground, unconscious.

The Italian then addressed Maddalena, who pressed her back against the wall, sobbing and trembling violently. “Giacomo...” She groaned. “Giacomo, just... stop...”

His hand gripped her throat and her voice broke. “Ah!” He hissed, showing her toothless gums, black and full of blood clots. “Now you want me to stop, huh? _Puttana_ _!_ You should have thought of that before pissing me off!”

Maddalena no longer had any weapons. She'd dropped them after the fight with Giselle. Terrified, she felt Sciarra’s breath falling on her in the darkened room.

“I've been dreaming of you from the first day I saw you... _Dio_ , you shined like a lighthouse in the fog.” He panted feverishly. “Among all Monteleone’s whores, no one was like you, and they were the most beautiful he'd afford. Ah, when I saw you, tall, beautiful, with that hair like a flame... looking at me with those eyes... fuck, you must be mine, I thought. But it couldn't be!” He released a dry laugh. “Not you, you were the boss' pet!” The goon grabbed her so hard from the neck she dared not move. Sciarra's other hand dropped the gun and began to grope her breasts under her blouse. “You were forbidden!” He continued, sticking closer to her, until she noticed the erection under his pants. “You belonged to the boss, no one would touch you, how many times I was told that. Couldn’t believe it. The other girls weren't enough for me. I had them when I wanted and as I wanted. One, two, three... I saw them below me and all of them had your face. That drove me nuts. I beat them, punched them, because they weren't you, and I wanted you. You and _only_ you!” With one tug he tore her blouse open, scattering the buttons. He snatched it feverishly, and after two pulls, the bra gave way with a click.

Maddalena never felt such fear and hatred in her life.

“I'm not evil...” He gasped in her ear as his fingers went down her breasts, squeezing them until it hurt. “They say I'm a brute. That I liked to beat women. Not true. If I'd had you I wouldn’t have made anyone suffer. I lived day and night, haunted by your vision. And you were so haughty, so dismissive... you hated me. You still hate me. And you know I'm more attractive than Monteleone. Damn, when you wanted you went to bed with anyone you crave! Why not me?” His bloodied mouth fell onto her breasts.

She couldn’t move. If she moved, he squeezed her throat harder. The redhead could hardly breathe. She closed her eyes. Her beating heart was like coming out of her chest.

Sciarra had risen again. Now he sharply unbuttoned her trousers.

_Oh,_ _Dio_ _._ _No,_ _no,_ _no._ _Protect_ _me_ , she begged silently.

“And when I finally had you, it wasn’t satisfactory.” He continued, his voice growing hoarse. “I hit you again and again. I wanted to erase that sneer from your face. I raped you, but it wasn’t enough. You became a defenceless straw bag that gave me _nothing_. Your friend, the beautiful Chinese, really helped me with her sobs and moans. You didn’t. You bit your tongue and let me do. How well whores act, huh? When you dislike the client, you spread your legs and look elsewhere. But this time you won’t! This time you’ll give me what I want!” With one tug he separated her from the wall and threw her down. She screamed when her elbow hit the ground. The impact left her breathless. Then he brutally turned her back and lay on her. “This could have been different...” Hissed him. “If you had wanted to...”

Maddalena turned her head to one side. Through the trail of blood that moistened her eyelids, she saw Radha began to move slowly.

“Giacomo...” She sobbed. “Not in front of her...”

“Ha! There were younger than her in your harem! What are you pretending!”

Then came the offensive pang which tore at her insides like a razor. She screamed and contracted in pain. The cold marble floor froze her back, and all of her was soaked in sweat.

“Now you’ll see!” Sciarra gasped. “It’s the last time you turn your face from me!” He reached out and grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look at him while he raped her, fumbling her face and hair with his fingers, marvelling at the softness of the skin of her eyelids, the tingling caress of her curls. So he'd dreamed her, night after night: trembling, terrified, her face contorted with hate and pain.

With a final lunge, he unloaded himself completely and fell on her with all his weight. Then he stood up and pulled out of her.

Maddalena was so sore she couldn't move. Looking sideways she noticed blood spattered on her thighs and felt the seminal fluid flowing within her, dripping to the floor.

Sciarra got up. Now he was looking at her askance, as if she was an incredible and wonderful vision.

“Are you entertained now, pig?” He heard her murmuring, half faint.

“I'll be better when I catch that bastard you like and cut off his balls. Then I’ll fuck you again, while he bleeds, and make him watch.”

She made a face. Yeah, that's more than he could really do. He may rape her, kill her, yes, but he won’t go beyond that. He was helpless, powerless to retaliate beyond that.

“You still laugh, _puttana_ _?_ Are you still laughing?”

She took a deep breath and pick up some strength. “Yeah, I laugh. You’re a sad and repulsive being. Don’t know what kind of life you've had to become such a monster, but you’re worthless and I loathe you. The most you can do with a woman is rape and beat her. The most you can do with a man is fight him. You don’t know how to love and don’t know anything about love. You’re disgusting. You've had my body, but you’ll never have me.”

The blow turned her face away and a crack was heard when her cheek hit the ground. “Bitch! What do you know about love, huh? You sell yourself to the highest bidder...!”

“I'd rather be a whore sold to the highest bidder than a hideous monster whom even the most despicable whore wouldn’t sell to.”

Letting out a roar of rage, Sciarra grabbed her neck with both hands and began to squeeze her as he banged her head against the floor. A cluster of stars began to dance before her eyes and she knew he was going to kill her. He might choke her or maybe he’ll bust open her skull on the ground. Whatever it was, it would be the end.

She’ll lose sight of him. _Help_ _me_ , she prayed in silence to the three martyrs of Sicily, _end this at once_ _._ _Please._

Suddenly, the beating stopped. The hands loosened around her throat and, with a gasp of pain, she inhaled the air, which came dry and burning in her tormented lungs. When the fog clouding her eyes cleared, Maddalena saw Sciarra’s face again, contorted in deep terror. His eyes were bulged and his mouth ajar. Making a gurgling noise, he raised his hands to his throat. Horrified, Maddalena saw that from it protruded the sharp tip of a scalpel.

The Italian goon staggered and collapsed on her. Then he rolled and fell to her side. His body was experiencing horrible convulsions - and suddenly he froze. He extended his large hand into a claw to Maddalena, trying to touch her one last time... and fell on the marble floor. A gush of blood flowed from his lips and laid motionless, with eyes staring at the redhead.

Maddalena looked up and saw Radha standing, serene, with a strong and terrible expression on her sweet face. Her right hand was splattered with blood.

“It was you... You killed him...”

The Indian girl leaned over, looked grimly at her sullied thighs and then, passing an arm around her shoulders, she helped her to sit up. A new lash of pain shook Maddalena. “Radha...” She whispered. “You saved me...”

The girl's dark eyes stared at her. Then, gesturing angrily, she said in her halting English: “It's because of a man like him that my life has been a living hell.”

Forgetting all restraint, Maddalena began to weep.


	33. Evasion

Wrapped in silence, Samael the Fallen One stared at the empty darkness.

He was the oldest being on the planet. So many millennia ago He'd followed the path from the heights to the depths. It was a hard, eternal fall - for every inch that tore Him from the place of angels and took Him into the void, a part of Him was also torn, disintegrated. However, He didn’t die. He didn’t disappear. He was an angel, and angels never die.

But with vivid clarity He recalled the time He was the most beautiful, brightest among all the angels - also, the cleverest. And yes, He was still beautiful. The defeat hadn’t changed Him into a horrible monster with goat legs and twisted horns as imagined by Christians.

 _Satan_. So they called him. That name meant nothing to Him, as the other names He'd received, a never-ending long list... Beelzebub, Lucifer...

He was Samael, the Shining One - and even if He had dwelled so long in darkness, He was still beautiful, He was still full of light. Samael.

Ah, the Day of the Fall, what a pain! But it all began for Her.

He stretched His arms towards Her, who slept for centuries, and touched Her breasts, Her soft eyes, the sweet curve of Her lips, Her albino hair. She slept, and He'd watched Her since then.

 _Lilith,_ _Lilith._ _My_ _beloved,_ _my_ _wife,_ _my_ _sin._ _For_ _you_ _I_ _fought_ _the_ _Almighty._ _For_ _you,_ _we_ _all_ _are_ _in_ _darkness._ _But_ _I_ _wouldn_ _’_ _t_ _have_ _gone_ _anywhere_ _else._

Ah, how He remembered Her, when the Lord had presented Her to the world! The first mortal woman - she'd seemed frail to them, so white, so thin, with those golden locks. She opened Her eyes and looked at Him who always stood by the Almighty. And how beautiful She was! Something like Her must die as well?

And then, what Michael the Archangel had said: _She_ _’_ _s_ _intended_ _for_ _Adam._ _She_ _will_ _be_ _his_ _wife,_ _to_ _breed_ _the_ _offspring_ _of_ _mortals._

For Adam! That dull, brute Adam! Just imagining Her at the mercy of that ape drove Him mad. So delicate, so sweet. Lilith. He fell in love with that beautiful creature not intended for Him. He sinned, yes, he sinned. Confronting the Almighty was sinful.

Yes, they said the Fall had been caused by treason - for not respecting the Son, the gift of human redemption. What did they know anyway. The Fall had been for Lilith, solely and exclusively for Lilith.

Adam the beast had failed to treat the beautiful gift he received as it deserved. He humbled her, as animals match with their females. In theory, that was right - they should breed. But she, who'd seen Samael and knew the thoughts of angels, much smarter than Adam, fled from him. She couldn't stand him. The Almighty was angry and threatened to kill Her children if She didn’t return with the beast. And She said _no_.

Ah, how He remembered Her... He'd seen her by the Red Sea, kneeling in the sand, screaming, arms outstretched, head thrown back, foam rubbing Her belly, impregnated for the umpteenth time. Screaming with all Her might. _Hey,_ _Yahweh,_ _kill_ _them._ _Kill_ _them_ _one_ _by_ _one,_ _if_ _you_ _wish._ _Kill_ _this_ _one_ _I_ _carry_ _in_ _my_ _womb._ _But_ _I_ _’_ _ll_ _never_ _go_ _back_ _to_ _him._

The golden hair in the wind. The dark eyes brimming with tears. At that moment, Samael did what was forbidden. He went down with Her and appeared to Her. She looked at Him and stopped screaming.

 _If_ _you_ _come_ _to_ _me,_ _I_ _will_ _make_ _you_ _happier_ _than_ _the_ _angels_ _of_ _Eden_ , He'd said.

The beauty of the angel was so dazzling that She covered Her eyes. _Have_ _you_ _come_ _from_ _Him?_ _Will_ _I_ _be_ _given_ _back_ _to_ _Adam?_

 _No_ , He said. She would never return. He was captivated by Her purity, Her beauty. The cunning, clever Lilith.

 _For_ _you_ _I_ _doomed_ _myself_ _to_ _the_ _darkness._ _My_ _love,_ _my_ _love._

A new wife, humbler, less intelligent, was given to Adam the beast. Eve. She meekly complied what was expected of her, but she'd also betray him, because that's what Adam deserved. Eve was born from Adam himself, and it was easier for her to surrender to him.

But Lilith... Lilith... She should be eliminated. She was too rebellious, too vindictive. But even Yahweh didn’t dare to harm Her - She was so perfect!

He saved Her. Yes, Samael saved Her. He did what it couldn't be done - He gave Her His blood. He opened His neck, letting his spiritual sap flow and Lilith pressed Her lips on Him. Oh, that ecstasy. _My_ _beloved,_ _my_ _beautiful_. Soon She changed and transformed. She became immortal, and Her beauty was multiplied by infinity. It hurt to see Her, so beautiful and pure She was.

And then Yahweh’s anger. The Angels’ Council. _Samael,_ _Samael!_ _Who_ _but_ _Me_ _must_ _give_ _eternal_ _life?_ _Who_ _but_ _Me_ _had_ _to_ _decide_ _the_ _fate_ _of_ _the_ _mortal_ _Lilith?_ _By_ _giving_ _her_ _your_ _immortal_ _blood,_ _you_ _have_ _created_ _an_ _impure_ _being_ _who_ _doesn_ _’_ _t_ _have_ _My_ _blessing._ _No matter_ _she_ _must_ _be_ _destroyed!_

Lilith didn't surrender. When they tried to attack Her, She arose into the air. _You_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _touch_ _me_ , She said. _No_ _more_ _slavery._ _Hey,_ _brother,_ _husband_ _Samael,_ _come_ _with_ _Me._ _The_ _time_ _has_ _come._

Two sides. The angels, divided. Many joined their cause. The battle had lasted for millennia. And finally, the defeat. The Almighty was sheltered by His Ones.

And Michael, the Archangel, who was a friend and colleague, had crushed His head with the heel of his foot. _Renounce_ _,_ _Samael,_ _leave that infamous_ _abyss._ _You_ _can_ _still_ _be_ _redeemed._ _Yahweh_ _will_ _forgive_ _you,_ _for_ _you_ _are_ _one_ _of_ _His_ _most_ _beloved._

But Samael had closed His eyes. _She's_ _my_ _wife,_ _my_ _beloved._ _Wherever_ _she_ _goes,_ _I_ _’_ _ll_ _go._

Then came the coup and the Fall. Thousands fell with Him. They were banished from the heavens, sinking into the abyss. When He could raise His essence from dust, those beautiful angels that had supported Him had become horrible bloodthirsty monstrosities, which spread around the world to torment mortals. Torn, Samael spread His arms to find Lilith.

Both remained beautiful and pure. That would be their punishment - to dwell forever in the darkness, surrounded by the freaks they themselves had created.

But love was everything. They bred a race of beings as high and as beautiful as them. Yes, they dwelled in darkness, but Samael never regretted having defied the Almighty.

From His silent manor, the one now called Evil by them, spent His eternity watching in silence humans who were born and died. How much He loved them - they reminded Him of the mortal Lilith, fragile and delicate. Yes, they hated Him, feared Him, because they didn’t know Him, but He loved them. They were perfect in their imperfection, beautiful in their ugliness. He loved them almost as much as demons hated them, torn by their deformation.

He lay upon Her and kissed Her. Her eyelids quivered, Her heavenly body shuddered. But She went on sleeping. She'd slept since Her children had terribly betrayed Her, disappointing Her. Samael had watched Her sleep in silence. There was no reason to haste, for impatience. They had all eternity ahead of them and She was His.

Under His fingers, He noticed the beautiful heart beating softly. The dark heart began to fill itself with energy. The time of Her awakening was near.

 _What_ _troubles_ _you,_ _my_ _love_ _?_

Samael received only silence in reply, as He turned His vision into the mortal world.

He loved that silence.

 

* * *

 

It was then when Schäffer saw everything clearly - or at least he figured it out. It was useless to wait... he'd total faith in his Lady, but he'd have to be blind to not to notice something was escaping from the situation She believed She controlled. Surely it wasn't in Bathsheba’s plans that this happened.

“Wake up her, dammit!” He yelled. “Is she breathing?”

They had found Giselle’s body, face down, stiff as a log of wood. The two assistants he'd called fearful lifted and laid her on a stretcher, while another doctor examined her frowning.

“Morphine.” He said. “She's totally sedated...”

“Will she survive?” The mercenary asked impatiently.

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Take care of her.”

He adjusted his gloves and went out, walked quickly down the aisle, followed by two of his men, while he was giving orders: “Spread squads 3 and 4 on the beach. The rest must come with me. I’ve had enough aircrafts flying over the Island. If they want trouble, we shouldn't make them wait any longer.”

“Sir...?”

“Prepare the missiles.”

 

* * *

 

Lara and Kurtis stopped at the halfway. They heard voices and shouts down the hall, and the sound of boots pounding the ground.

“Schäffer has spread his men out.” Lara said, and picked up the communicator. “Justin! Beware up there, they might attack!”

“Roger.” Said the soldier’s hard voice. “We’ll face them.”

Kurtis had advanced a few steps, holding the Boran - which Lara had returned to him. A few feet away from him, they saw Maddalena and Radha around the corner, both bruised, the redhead very pale, but serene. They came at full speed towards them.

 _“Grazie Dio_ _!”_ The italian cried, and then noticed, shocked, that Kurtis hadn't a single wound anymore.

Radha ran towards Lara and hugged her instinctively, as she spoke hurriedly in her language. She still was talking when suddenly, lights went off, one by one, abruptly, and left them in the fading darkness.

“They're not willing to let us go.” Lara said, looking for a flash-light.

“We’ll see.” Kurtis grunted.

They sharpened their hearing and heard them approaching from the lower floors.

“No chance of leaving below.” Lara added. “The dungeons, the floors below, will be monitored. The only choice...”

“... is to go up.” Maddalena concluded. Her voice was faint. “There’s an empty heliport on the rooftop. You have a helicopter, didn’t you?”

She heard Kurtis’ voice in the darkness: “They might not go down. They'll shoot at them.”

”We have to try, Kurtis.”

“They're here!” Shouted Radha, who was leaning over the stairs.

The four people ran in search of the ascending stairs.

 

* * *

 

Sobbing in pain, anger and humiliation, Bathsheba fell on the sacred circle.

This time, the Great Goddess came to her without being summoned - it was enough to hear Her daughter’s mourning to appear in front of her. She leaned forward and pressed the Nephilim's head against Her breasts as She slid Her thin fingers through her hair with Her arms around her. The beauty was faint, almost unconscious.

Lilith put her face back and drank the silver tears running down her cheeks. The cry was subsiding - being held by Lilith was the source of all comfort. Gradually, she felt her strength restored.

 _My_ _Daughter,_ _you,_ _my_ _beloved..._ _how_ _could he have_ _done_ _such_ _damage_ _to_ _you?_

The Goddess could feel the deep hurt inside Bathsheba. Lilith, who was strong and eternal and could sweep life with one stroke could see the damage received. She saw it as a bleeding ulcer in her daughter. At that time, the Nephilim was weaker than ever. Her life wasn’t in danger, since only a Periapt Shard could kill her, but a mortal child had more strength than her right then.

Finally, Bathsheba managed to speak. “He did what is forbidden, Mother. He touched me... he grabbed me. I tried to retreat, but I couldn’t. He started to drain my energy... seizing my strength! He healed himself stealing my power...” A sob cut her words.

Lilith's lips were kissing her tears. That made Bathsheba confused and angry; she didn’t understand why her eyes were dropping water...

 _Because_ _your_ _body_ _still_ _has_ _the_ _true_ _essence_ _from_ _when_ _it_ _was_ _mortal._ _Ah,_ _I_ _love_ _mortals_ _’_ _tears._ _I_ _shed_ _so_ _many_ _of_ _them_ _when_ _I_ _was_ _a_ _woman_ _given_ _to_ _a_ _visceral_ _gross brute_ _._ _Don_ _’_ _t_ _be_ _ashamed_ _of_ _your_ _weakness,_ _Daughter,_ _you_ _will_ _be_ _avenged._

“How? It’s enough for him to hold my wrists to drain my energy! Who gave this man such power?”

 _He_ _gathers all the skills_ _and_ _powers_ _of_ _his_ _Order._ _He_ _doesn_ _’_ _t_ _know,_ _but_ _he_ _’_ _s_ _stronger_ _than_ _all_ _his_ _predecessors._ _Moreover,_ _my_ _Daughter,_ _he_ _doesn_ _’_ _t_ _know_ _what_ _has_ _he_ _done_ _or_ _how_ _he_ _did_ _that._ _I_ _assure_ _you_ _his_ _intention_ _was_ _only_ _to_ _protect_ _the_ _mortal_ _woman,_ _to_ _get_ _her_ _away_ _from_ _you._ _The_ _rest_ _has_ _arisen_ _only_ _because_ _there_ _are_ _very_ _powerful_ _forces_ _protecting him_ _._ _Therefore_ _he_ _should_ _be_ _spared_ _until_ _being_ _before_ _me._ _Be_ _patient,_ _My_ _Daughter,_ _you_ _’_ _ll_ _recover_ _from_ _the_ _attack._

The pain was subsiding - she still felt weak, but opened her eyes to met Lilith’s inscrutable gaze. The Nephilim shivered as Her lips slid to her mouth. “I’ve failed. My plan hasn’t been carried out.”

 _Not_ _at_ _all._ _Do_ _you_ _think_ _my_ _eyes_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _see_ _anything?_ _I_ _sleep_ _but_ _I'm_ _alert._ _It_ _was_ _for_ _good_ _he_ _committed_ _such_ _a_ _sacrilege_ _against_ _you._ _Until_ _now_ _he_ _was_ _too_ _pure_ _in_ _the_ _eyes_ _of_ _the_ _immortals._ _My_ _Husband_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _have_ _been_ _able_ _to_ _blame_ _him..._ _Ah,_ _He_ _and_ _His_ _love_ _for_ _mortals!_ _But_ _who_ _forces_ _an_ _angel_ _commits_ _sin,_ _and_ _in_ _that_ _we_ _’_ _ll_ _be_ _like_ _the_ _Almighty_ _:_ _we_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _forgive._

“What should I do for now, Mother?”

 _Sleep,_ _recover_ _yourself_ _in_ _my_ _arms._ _Let_ _everything_ _take_ _its_ _course._ _When_ _you_ _awake,_ _you_ _will_ _be_ _strengthened_ _and_ _prepared._ _The_ _time_ _will_ _come,_ _Bathsheba,_ _Daughter_ _of_ _Karel._ _Sleep._

Floating in a cold mist, the beauty abandoned herself between the Goddess’ white arms.

 

* * *

 

The missile threat was no joke. As soon as the aircrafts were seen in the clouds, there was a tremendous explosion. The missile struck the tail of a plane and made it spiral down to the sea, crashing into the waves.

“Bastards!” Justin screamed at the sight. He noticed the mercs deployed along the beach. Very well. He ordered to shoot at them. Again another missile struck another aircraft. A new wave of fire. This would be tricky.

“Lara!” He shouted by the communicator. “They’re firing missiles at us!”

“We’ll try to climb to the top heliport!” He heard her answering. “Bring the helicopter, keep the others busy!”

Justin nodded and adjusted his gloves. “Here we go.” He murmured.

 

* * *

 

The rise was endless. Radha felt a terrible pain in the chest after running out of breath, but she assumed Maddalena would be suffering more, hurt as she was.

Kurtis beat down the door leading to the roof with a kick - but they didn’t  go out. He and Lara stuck to the wall and peered outward. Everything was deafened by the noise of the chopper’s propellers, coming down slowly. It almost managed to cover up the explosions and flashes outside the Island.

They saw people waving from the cockpit. Marie and Marcus were there. The British explorer waved in return. Then she turned to them: “Radha will go first. I'll cover her.”

“No, I will.” The Lux Veritatis said suddenly.

Lara frowned. “Kurtis...”

“Trust me. They won’t shoot at me - and if they dare, they won’t reach me.”

“How can you...?”

“Lara. Trust me.”

Finally, she nodded. At that time, there was a tremendous explosion. They shrank against the wall, and saw a trail of fire heading towards the sea.

“They've brought down another aircraft!” Maddalena said, terrified.

“C'mon, Radha.” Kurtis urged.

The Indian girl went next to him. Seeing her, Lara noticed how much she'd grown since the last time she'd seen her. The girl reached Kurtis’ shoulder, and he was a tall man. She'd had a tremendous growth spurt.

Lara had no more time to think, because in that moment both them came out running at the helicopter, which hovered almost touching the ground. The propeller’s roar was really deafening, and the wind shook the girl's dark hair, wrapping her head in a black cloud.

The British explorer should have guessed that - at the moment they saw them out, about ten different mercenaries left corners of the roof to attack. Lara, however, didn’t wait - from her parapet she drew her gun and fired. A shower of shrapnel hit the steel door and she rushed to hide behind it, while Maddalena shrank at her side, watching the sparks dotting the door.

For Radha any distance traveled in her life was not as long as those twenty paces. Projectiles rained around her, but she didn’t even have time to scream. Shielded by Kurtis, she ran though like everything was in slow motion, until she finally saw the brown arms of a dark-skinned woman who pulled her, boarding her on the helicopter.

“Go up, little one!” The old woman said.

Kurtis had retreated to the ladder’s dugout. At that time something exploded near him and he was thrown against the wall. A grenade.

“Kurtis!”

“I'm fine.” He said, standing next to Lara.

Maddalena leaning out of the stairs, shouted: “There are mercs going up!”

“Well, here we go.” Lara determined. “The three of us.”

The redhead urged herself to control her trembling legs - under her panties, she even noticed the sticky traces of blood, and when they ran, the air struck her face and another burst of fire blinded her eyes. For a moment she glanced at the beach and distinguished cast shadows on the sand. They were the bodies of fallen mercs, soaked each one in his own pool of blood.

Then she was driven up.

Lara was about to board when a cry stopped them. Sitting as she was already, she noticed Adolf Schäffer in the doorway. The boss said nothing. He just fired.

Maddalena screamed. The bullet hit the upholstery and a ball of foam jumped. From the back seat, Marcus shouted: “Dammit! Come up at once!”

As their boss was there advancing a few steps, mercs didn’t fire anymore. At the time Lara drove to climb, another bullet grazed her thigh. A stream of blood leaped and splashed Maddalena’s blouse, who let out a cry of horror.

Kurtis stepped in and fired towards Schäffer – the boss wore a bulletproof vest, but the Lux Veritatis shot him repeatedly and dropped him back to the ground, screaming in pain with damaged ribs. His men rushed towards him and fired again.

But Lara and Kurtis had gone into the helicopter and the door slammed shut. The bullets now couldn’t but leave slight swellings on the glass.

“Don’t worry!” The pilot said. “Best bullet-proofing in the British Army!”

Slowly they began to ascend. Lara sat back in her seat, with Marie and Marcus bending over her, examining the injured thigh. “It's nothing.” She murmured, and then she smiled at Kurtis. “We’ve made it.”

He smiled back.

The pain disappeared and the blood no longer flowed - Marcus was moving his fingers over the wound.


	34. Memories of a Healer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is "Light of Truth" by Ash Kaprielov.

The helicopter and the survivors from Justin’s team met in Romania, near Bran’s castle. Six out of twelve aircrafts had been lost.

“I'm so sorry, Justin.” Lara muttered, casting her eyes by his men.

He shook his head. “I'll take care of everything. We knew there was a risk and we did it anyway. What the hell was that? Mafia, a cult?”

“Something like that, Justin...but I can’t tell you anymore. You’ve been involved enough. The favour is more than returned.”

“What favour?” Kurtis said then, who was behind her, leaning on a fence.

Justin smiled. “Croft saved my life in a skirmish we had in... Bangladesh?”

“Exactly.” She smiled.

“I promised one day I'd return her the favour of her life.”

“And you did.” Lara added. “Thank you, Justin. Without you it would've been impossible.”

The pilot saluted and walked to his aircraft, followed by the rest of his men. Before boarding, he turned and said: “No clue who you are or why you’re this important, Kurtis Trent, but hope you know how to earn all this!”

“Of course.” The Lux Veritatis replied, saluting too. When the aircrafts took off and disappeared over the horizon, he added: “Worth it, Lara?”

“How can you ask that?” She replied, placing her arms around his neck. “I should have come before, Kurtis.” Then she brushed his mouth with her lips.

Suddenly they heard Zip’s voice, shouting full voice from one window on the castle’s third floor: “Geeeez! Someone stop those two! Shame on y’all!”

“C'mon, Lara. Everybody's looking at us.”

“Nevermind them.” She said, mocking and kissed him harder.

 

* * *

 

That evening was one of the happiest to remember for a while. Kurtis had returned safe and sound, another Lux Veritatis and Healer, and Radha had been rescued - so there were enough grounds for celebration. For once, Vlad didn’t care to have his place crowded.

Kurtis refused to talk about what they had done to him, and Maddalena didn't say a word about her rape. Marcus joked about his long stay in prison, dismissively, and Marie remained silent the whole time, clutching her son’s hand. Even when Kurtis joked about him being spoiled, the old woman wouldn’t release him.

Maddalena remained silent and aloof. For some reason, she felt as if she'd nothing to do with that situation. As if an intruder in that plot, as if she was there by mistake. She also said not a word about Sciarra’s death, trying to protect Radha. Despite that, Kurtis had looked at her askance more than once, and although he hadn’t said anything, she couldn’t help but shudder. Something told her he suspected something.

That night Lara and Kurtis made love furiously, almost desperately. It was as if time and the world itself would soon cast over them. Lara felt as if there was a Damocles' sword suspended over them, which eventually would fall and cut violently, separating them again, perhaps forever. Every time he made love to her - and they were many times, despite their exhaustion - she clung to him fiercely, digging her nails into his skin, scratching him, for over his shoulder she believed she saw that damn Bathsheba, who smiled at her as Karel did once, ready to snatch Kurtis from her arms.

 _This is all_ _driving_ _me_ _crazy._

At dawn he fell asleep, and then Lara rushed to the bathroom to empty her stomach again - nausea had returned.  She looked at herself, naked in the mirror, and touched her belly. Was it softer, slightly rounded? Apart from those ailments, and some painful swelling in her breasts, nothing had changed. Almost three months, and she barely looked pregnant. It was said pregnancy and childbirth features often passed from mother to daughter. She smiled bitterly - that was the first time she thought of her mother in a while. What would she think of that? _Scandalous,_ _Lara._ _No_ _doubt._

Kurtis hadn’t noticed anything. He couldn’t even imagine that. Well, sooner or later she'd have to tell him. Lara just hadn’t reached that point yet.

 

* * *

 

For a few days, all of them were at peace. Lara decided not to return to England. Surrey Manor was no longer safe, and anyway it would be best for Winston: if they stood away from there, nobody would go back to bother him or put his life in danger - or at least, so she hoped.

They met often at Vlad’s library to discuss. Neither Radha nor Maddalena took part. The redhead didn’t care about that anymore. Often the castle tourists saw her wandering by outdoors or through the courtyard, head down and embracing herself, her splendid red hair covering her face. When a friendly traveller, concerned, approached to ask if she was okay, she raised her head and showed an empty smile, and then she continued wandering. Something was consuming her from the inside.

And it wasn’t because of the rape. In fact, she'd recently menstruated again and therefore the panic of getting pregnant from that monster disappeared. The rest she got over easily. Male brutality had been her daily bread and in that, she was stronger than any other woman.

What consumed her was her uncertain situation. She was in love with a man who didn’t share her feelings. When being a child she'd been taught that love was the enemy of her employment. If a prostitute fell in love, she was lost - no more living, but dying of hunger.

While walking, all of that was spinning around in her head. She'd even thought of leaving prostitution. Now she was an adult and had escaped from the clutches of the madams of Sicily, and also from Monteleone's claws. Couldn’t she rule her own life? But it wasn’t easy.

If Kurtis had loved her... if that bloody British woman wasn’t in the middle... maybe things would be easier. Maybe he could have loved her, after all. She'd been told stories of prostitutes who had fallen in love with their customers and had left the job forever.

Curse that woman. Curse him, who couldn’t look away from her. Hadn’t Maddalena been told that men were treacherous? Didn’t most of her customers have girlfriends and wives, and yet they went to have her? She would've wanted him to be like them, although he despised her.

And so she spent her hours like a lost soul. She didn’t even notice people looking at her.

However, Radha actually felt upset about being excluded from those private meetings. She used to slip to the large mahogany door and stuck her ear to the door. Unfortunately, if she barely understood English, she knew nothing of French, which they used to grant themselves more privacy.

 

* * *

 

It was the third day when Marcus secretly called Lara. The old man met her in Ivanoff’s office. The British explorer was greatly intrigued by that man, who was like Kurtis but also different.

“Take this, child, it’s for you.” And he handed her a bundle of twisted and blackened sheets, handwritten in an elegant curved letter. Lara took off the rubber that held the bundle and flipped through it. It stank of mildew and was stained. “This is a report I wrote during the months I was a prisoner at the base in Moscow. I estimate that around that time you’d just killed the Black Alchemist and still nothing was known about the Golden Seal and its role. When I have time, I’ll include everything you told me about it.”

“They let you write this?” Lara asked, surprised.

Marcus nodded. “He did - that devilish Karel. He forced me somewhat, but I also wanted to. I guess that's why I was spared. They used my memories to find out more about their enemy. For months I had it, and sometimes he snatched it from me, read it and gave it back to me. Yes, there was an opportunity to lie but after...” Then his voice broke. “After he punished me, I never did it again.”

Lara asked no questions about the “punishment.”

“Then, when Karel died, I kept the manuscript. Sometimes I hid it in my clothes, sometimes in the corner of my cell. Dr. Boaz doesn’t know of its existence, but Bathsheba does. She laughed and let me keep it. I hid it in a hole in the ceiling, where the water didn’t reach. I want you to read, it’s important for you to know this.”

She nodded. “What’s the report about?”

Marcus smiled, but it was a bitter smile. “About the Order’s final agony. About my last days in freedom and above all, about Kurtis.”

Lara raised her eyebrows in surprise. “About _Kurtis?”_

“Don’t show this to him. He might become furious. Oh yes, I knew him, though he didn’t recognize me. I pretended not to know him in prison, but, truth be told, I followed his path in the Order since before he was even born.”

So there was a report on Kurtis. Unbelievable. What he never would tell her was there. She could hardly wait to read it. “Thank you, Marcus. Hope my reading may be helpful.”

“I've arranged everything for when you're done, you give it to Selma. She has offered to transcribe it and Zip to file in in his computer. The original should be destroyed.”

Lara nodded. When Marcus left, she went to a couch, laid full length, and swinging her leg, began to read.

 

* * *

 

**_Report_ _on_ _the_ _Order_ _in_ _its_ _last_ _days,_ _by_ _Marcus_ _the_ _Healer_**

_The Order of the Lux Veritatis was_ _born_ _in_ _XIII_ _century._ _It_ _’_ _s_ _impossible_ _to_ _pinpoint_ _the_ _exact_ _year,_ _for_ _the_ _older_ _files_ _were_ _destroyed_ _by_ _Pieter_ _Van_ _Eckhardt_ _in_ _assault_ _on_ _Beirut_ _’_ _s_ _stronghold_ _in_ _the_ _70's_ _._ _And_ _now,_ _at_ _the_ _beginning_ _of_ _XXI_ _century,_ _we_ _can_ _say_ _-_ _I_ _can_ _say -_ _that_ _we're_ _over._ _The_ _Order_ _has_ _died._ _Our_ _enemies_ _have_ _finally_ _crushed_ _us._

 _In_ _this_ _cold_ _dark_ _cell_ _where_ _I_ _write,_ _I'm_ _convinced_ _this_ _report_ _will_ _have_ _some_ _meaning._ _Karel_ _let_ _me_ _write_ _it._ _I_ _see_ _his_ _cold_ _smile_ _between_ _the_ _bars_ _every_ _time_ _he_ _passes_ _by._ _It amuses him to see me overwhelmed,_ _so_ _he_ _gave_ _me_ _pencil_ _and_ _paper._ _“_ _Write_ _old_ _man;_ _let_ _’_ _s_ _see_ _what_ _you can_ _tell_ _me”._ _If_ _Eckhardt_ _knows_ _about_ _it,_ _he_ _’_ _ll_ _set it on_ _fire,_ _as_ _he_ _did with_ _everything_ _that_ _was_ _ours._

 _But_ _I_ _must_ _do_ _this,_ _even_ _on_ _behalf_ _of_ _my_ _soul._ _Then,_ _if_ _they_ _want_ _to_ _kill_ _me_ _and_ _burn_ _these_ _papers,_ _so_ _be it._

* * *

 

**_About_ _the_ _author_**

_I_ _know_ _it_ _sounds_ _pretentious,_ _but_ _I'd_ _like_ _to_ _start_ _this_ _report_ _talking_ _about_ _myself._ _My_ _name's_ _Marcus..._ _just_ _Marcus._ _My_ _surname_ _vanished_ _when_ _joining_ _the_ _Order_ _and_ _I’m_ _proud of it._ _Brother_ _Marcus_ _the_ _Healer_ _is_ _my_ _name._

 _I_ _was_ _born_ _sixty-four_ _years_ _ago._ _My_ _father_ _was_ _a_ _Healer_ _like_ _me_ _and_ _my_ _mother_ _one_ _of_ _the_ _Order_ _’_ _s_ _wisest_ _women._ _I_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _awaken to_ _the_ _Gift until_ _16_ _years old_ _and_ _then_ _I_ _joined_ _the_ _service_ _of_ _our_ _community._ _Since_ _that_ _day_ _there_ _was_ _nothing_ _more_ _important_ _to_ _me,_ _as_ _it_ _should_ _be._

 _My_ _wisdom_ _and_ _good_ _sense_ _made_ _my_ _brothers_ _love_ _me_ _and at_ _some_ _point_ _my_ _appointment_ _as_ _Grand_ _Master_ _was_ _considered._ _That_ _made_ _me_ _panic, for_ _I_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _bear_ _such a high-risk role_ _,_ _which_ _put_ _me_ _in_ _the_ _eye_ _of_ _the_ _hurricane and_ _the_ _first_ _of_ _the_ _Black_ _Alchemist_ _’_ _s_ _potential_ _victims._ _However,_ _once_ _the_ _Master_ _is_ _elected,_ _he_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _quit_ _._ _I_ _never_ _got_ _to_ _be it_ _as_ _I_ _was_ _captured_ _on_ _the_ _eve_ _of_ _my_ _appointment._ _Had_ _Eckhardt_ _seen_ _what_ _I_ _was_ _to_ _become?_ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _know._ _Since_ _then_ _I've_ _never_ _known_ _freedom,_ _and_ _a man_ _greater than_ _me_ _took_ _my_ _place - but_ _I_ _’_ _ll_ _come_ _back_ _to_ _this_ _later._

 _Oh_ _Blessed_ _Light..._ _Why_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _they_ _kill_ _me?_ _When_ _will_ _this agony_ _end?_

 _However,_ _I_ _’_ _m_ _not_ _the_ _main_ _character_ _of_ _this_ _report._ _I_ _was_ _nearly_ _fifty_ _years old_ _and_ _I'd_ _seen_ _the_ _death_ _of_ _my_ _wife_ _and_ _the_ _growth_ _and_ _sacrifice_ _of_ _my_ _children’s_ _lives_ _when_ _he arrived_ _to_ _the_ _Order._ _Somehow,_ _his_ _existence foretold_ _me_ _the_ _Order_ _’_ _s_ _end_ _as_ _any_ _other_ _fate_ _had._ _May_ _the_ _Holy_ _Light_ _forgive_ _him._

* * *

 

**_Concerning_ _Brother_ _Kurtis_ _Heissturm_**

_I_ _must_ _talk_ _about_ _him,_ _partly_ _because_ _he's_ _everything,_ _partly_ _because_ _Karel_ _forces_ _me_ _to_ _do_ _so._ _He_ _wants_ _to_ _know_ _his_ _enemy_ _to_ _overcome_ _him._ _Well,_ _I_ _hope_ _you, my_ _reader,_ _understand_ _I_ _had_ _no_ _choice._ _Life is all I've left_ _,_ _and_ _yet,_ _I desire to die_ _._

 _Brother_ _Kurtis_ _is_ _the_ _son_ _of_ _the_ _great_ _Konstantin Heissturm_ _and_ _Marie_ _Cornel, his wife._ _But_ _before_ _talking_ _about_ _the_ _child,_ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _leave_ _out_ _neither_ _the_ _father_ _nor_ _the_ _grandfather._

 _Our_ _Order_ _has_ _always_ _witnessed_ _the_ _birth_ _and_ _death_ _of_ _powerful_ _figures._ _We_ _all_ _share_ _the_ _Gift_ _,_ _but_ _we_ _’_ _re_ _not_ _equal_ _at_ _all._ _First_ _of_ _all,_ _Fighters_ _appear_ _to_ _be_ _advantaged,_ _since_ _they_ _’_ _re_ _not_ _only_ _able_ _to_ _use_ _telekinesis_ _to_ _alter_ _matter,_ _but_ _they_ _are_ _also_ _clairvoyant,_ _they_ _acknowledge_ _the_ _past_ _and_ _future_ _through_ _dreams,_ _visions,_ _and_ _touches,_ _and_ _they_ _can_ _also_ _move_ _their_ _mind_ _to_ _the_ _immaterial_ _plans_ _they_ _want._ _And_ _because_ _they_ _’_ _re_ _so_ _powerful_ _and_ _dangerous,_ _the_ _training_ _they_ _receive_ _is_ _a_ _hundred_ _times_ _harder._

 _Healers_ _have_ _the_ _power_ _of_ _healing._ _We_ _can_ _stop_ _bleeding_ _and_ _prevent_ _infection._ _We_ _can order_ _the_ _blood_ _to_ _stop_ _flowing,_ _we_ _throw_ _pus_ _out_ _of_ _a_ _wound,_ _we_ _order_ _harmful_ _micro-organisms_ _to_ _stop_ _their_ _activity_ _and_ _withdraw_ _._ _B_ _ut_ _we_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _completely_ _rebuild_ _a_ _bone_ _or_ _repair_ _tissues_ _,_ _or_ _make_ _intact_ _an_ _empty_ _eye socket,_ _or_ _put_ _a_ _severed_ _hand back_ _in_ _its_ _place._ _Only_ _the_ _Nephili,_ _cursed_ _be_ _their_ _name,_ _could_ _do_ _that._

 _By_ _contrast,_ _our sense for_ _wisdom_ _is_ _greater_ _than_ _the_ _Fighters_ _’_ _._ _We_ _interpret_ _their_ _dreams_ _and_ _visions,_ _we_ _give_ _them_ _advice_ _and_ _counsel._ _Without_ _us_ _they_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _withstand_ _the_ _heavy_ _burden_ _over their shoulders_ _._ _They_ _fight_ _and_ _we_ _advise._ _Yes,_ _we_ _’_ _re_ _both_ _very_ _important_ _and_ _necessary,_ _but_ _even_ _as_ _a_ _child_ _I_ _always_ _wanted_ _to_ _be_ _a_ _Fighter_ _and_ _shoot_ _down_ _objects,_ _blow_ _up_ _matter_ _and_ _see_ _the_ _past_ _and_ _the_ _future._

 _Oh,_ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _want_ _it_ _any_ _more._ _Blessed_ _be_ _the_ _Light_ _who_ _made_ _me_ _a_ _Healer._ _If_ _born a_ _Fighter,_ _I'd_ _be_ _dead already._ _What_ _am_ _I_ _saying?_ _All of_ _them_ _have_ _died - both_ _Healers_ _and_ _Fighters,_ _and_ _with_ _them_ _their_ _wives_ _and_ _families._

 _What_ _do_ _they_ _want_ _from_ _me?_

 _But_ _I_ _mustn_ _’_ _t_ _digress._ _As_ _I_ _say,_ _there_ _were_ _always_ _powerful_ _figures_ _that_ _exceeded_ _the_ _normal_ _average._ _Gerhardt_ _Heissturm_ _was_ _the_ _first_ _among_ _the_ _Fighters_ _in_ _hundreds_ _of_ _years_ _that_ _showed_ _great_ _power._ _I_ _remember_ _the_ _Grand_ _Master_ _of_ _the_ _time_ _-_ _in_ _the_ _Light_ _he_ _may_ _rest -_ _horrified_ _to_ _see_ _his_ _amazing_ _psychic powers_ _._ _He'd_ _only_ _to_ _close_ _his_ _eyes_ _to_ _see_ _everything._ _All of it._ _The_ _enemy's moves_ _,_ _those_ _who'd_ _be_ _born_ _and those who’d_ _die... Gerhardt_ _overwhelmed_ _everyone_ _with_ _his_ _glance._ _His_ _eyes_ _had_ _a_ _strange_ _grey_ _blue colour,_ _and_ _I,_ _who_ _was_ _a_ _child_ _when_ _he_ _was_ _at_ _the_ _peak_ _of_ _his_ _life,_ _I_ _remember_ _trembling_ _when_ _he_ _looked_ _at_ _me._

 _His_ _son,_ _Konstantin,_ _inherited_ _his_ _traits._ _Again,_ _he_ _showed himself_ _as_ _a_ _man_ _of_ _great_ _power._ _Gerhardt's_ _legacy,_ _when_ _killed,_ _went_ _to_ _him_ _and_ _multiplied itself._ _His_ _life_ _coincided_ _with_ _the_ _period_ _of_ _greatest_ _struggle_ _and_ _the_ _beginning_ _of_ _the_ _end_ _of_ _the_ _Order._ _He_ _gave_ _himself_ _in_ _body_ _and_ _soul_ _to_ _the_ _fight_ _._ _The_ _woman_ _he_ _chose_ _as_ _his_ _wife_ _was_ _no_ _less_ _remarkable_ _than_ _him,_ _although_ _she_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _have_ _the_ _Gift_ _._ _When_ _Marie_ _Cornel_ _came_ _to_ _the_ _Order,_ _we_ _all_ _knew_ _she_ _wouldn_ _’_ _t_ _disappoint_ _us._ _She_ _was_ _strong_ _as_ _an_ _old_ _oak._ _Yes,_ _she_ _was_ _worthy_ _of_ _her_ _husband._

 _What_ _I_ _would've_ _never_ _expected_ _is_ _Eckhardt_ _’_ _s_ _rage_ _so_ _brutally_ _focused on the fruit of her womb_ _._ _When_ _we_ _learned_ _she_ _was_ _pregnant – by then_ _I_ _was already_ _an_ _adult_ _and_ _had_ _my_ _own_ _family -_ _we_ _all_ _rejoiced._ _Undoubtedly,_ _Konstantin_ _’_ _s_ _son_ _would_ _be_ _as_ _or_ _more_ _powerful_ _than_ _him,_ _since_ _he'd_ _been_ _greater_ _than_ _his_ _predecessor._

 _Inexplicably,_ _the_ _Black_ _Alchemist_ _forgot_ _about_ _the_ _Order,_ _forgot_ _Konstantin_ _himself,_ _who'd_ _infringed_ _serious_ _damage_ _and_ _attacks_ _against_ _him,_ _and_ _focused_ _all_ _his_ _rage_ _into_ _a_ _single_ _goal_ _:_ _to_ _kill_ _Marie_ _Cornel. Yes,_ _Brother_ _Kurtis_ _was_ _besieged_ _even_ _before_ _birth._ _But_ _that_ _was_ _our_ _fate..._ _and_ _in_ _him_ _it_ _was_ _multiplied._

 _We_ _devoted ourselves_ _to_ _protect_ _this_ _blessed_ _woman._ _She_ _was_ _as_ _brave_ _as_ _the_ _bravest_ _of_ _us._ _She_ _accepted_ _her_ _fate_ _with_ _a_ _nod_ _and_ _spent_ _her_ _pregnancy_ _fleeing_ _and_ _hiding,_ _hiding_ _and_ _fleeing._ _Any other_ _would've_ _succumbed_ _to_ _such_ _pressure,_ _or perhaps_ _lose their child,_ _but_ _as_ _I_ _said,_ _she_ _was_ _exceptional._

 _She_ _was..._ _Why do_ _I_ _talk_ _in_ _the_ _past?_ _May_ _the_ _Light_ _see she_ _’_ _s_ _still_ _alive._ _I_ _know_ _she_ _was_ _n'_ _t_ _among_ _Tenebra_ _’_ _s_ _crucified._

* * *

 

 _Brother_ _Kurtis_ _’_ _birth_ _was_ _extraordinary_ _or_ _at_ _least_ _that_ _’_ _s what’s been_ _said._ _I_ _'_ _ve_ _been_ _told_ _many_ _times_ _about it -_ _a_ _buzz_ _in_ _the_ _Order,_ _and_ _Konstantin_ _was_ _proud_ _to_ _have_ _it_ _known._

 _Marie_ _Cornel_ _had_ _given_ _birth_ _alone_ _in_ _the_ _middle_ _of_ _a_ _meadow_ _at_ _night._ _She'd just_ _fled_ _the_ _town_ _where_ _she'd_ _sought_ _refuge,_ _only_ _a_ _few_ _miles_ _outside a small town in_ _Utah,_ _USA._ _Two_ _Fighter_ _brothers_ _were_ _with_ _her,_ _guarding_ _her,_ _when_ _a_ _squad_ _serving_ _the_ _Alchemist_ _attacked._ _They_ _keep_ _them busy_ _as_ _she_ _fled,_ _ran_ _through_ _the_ _prairie_ _and_ _left_ _behind_ _the_ _skirmish,_ _and_ _when_ _the only sounds she could hear were her_ _own_ _breathing_ _and the_ _crickets_ _at_ _night,_ _her waters broke_ _._

 _She_ _gave_ _birth_ _right_ _there,_ _with_ _a_ _handkerchief_ _in_ _her_ _mouth_ _so_ _that_ _her_ _pursuers_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _hear_ _even the smallest_ _groan,_ _and_ _cut_ _the_ _umbilical_ _cord_ _with_ _her_ _own_ _teeth._ _After_ _wrapping_ _the_ _new_ _born,_ _she_ _put_ _him_ _on_ _her_ _lap_ _and_ _got_ _up_ _and_ _resumed_ _her_ _flight._ _The_ _Light_ _helped_ _to_ _stop_ _her_ _bleeding_ _and_ _did not leave her to_ _die._

 _Yes,_ _certainly_ _she_ _’_ _s_ _a_ _unique_ _woman._

 

* * *

 

 _As_ _usual_ _in_ _these_ _cases,_ _we_ _offered_ _her our_ _protection - when_ _our_ _women_ _gave_ _birth_ _or_ _oversaw_ _young_ _children,_ _we_ _held_ _them_ _in_ _our_ _strongholds_ _._ _Being_ _the_ _most_ _vulnerable_ _members,_ _they_ _were_ _at_ _the_ _mercy_ _of_ _the_ _enemy._

 _To_ _our_ _surprise,_ _Marie_ _refused_ _all_ _protection._ _She_ _felt_ _it_ _was_ _safer_ _to_ _get_ _away_ _from_ _us,_ _for we were what would most attract_ _the_ _enemy._ _She even fought her_ _husband,_ _who_ _wanted over all_ _to_ _protect_ _both_ _her_ _and_ _the_ _child,_ _and_ _fought_ _us,_ _who_ _thought_ _that_ _every_ _male_ _born_ _was_ _valuable_ _-_ _because,_ _for_ _reasons_ _we_ _fail_ _to_ _understand,_ _women_ _rarely_ _inherited_ _the_ _Gift. But Marie refused_ _shelter_ _in_ _our_ _strongholds_ _._ _She_ _said_ _it_ _was_ _safer_ _for_ _her_ _and_ _her_ _son_ _to_ _be_ _away_ _from_ _our_ _influence._ _But_ _our_ _Order_ _follows_ _a_ _very_ _strict_ _discipline,_ _and_ _although_ _we_ _agreed_ _to_ _her_ _wishes_ _-_ _maybe_ _s_ _he_ _was_ _right,_ _given_ _the_ _fury_ _with which_ _Eckhardt_ _chases_ _us_ _lately -_ _we_ _never_ _let_ _her_ _completely_ _alone._ _We_ _always_ _put_ _one_ _or_ _two_ _of_ _ours_ _living close_ _to_ _her_ _place_ _of_ _shelter_ _,_ _at_ _least_ _to_ _inform_ _us._ _Marie_ _made_ _us_ _promise_ _her_ _son_ _would_ _never_ _see_ _any_ _of_ _us_ _hanging_ _around._

 _And_ _so_ _it_ _was._ _At_ _least_ _until_ _four_ _years_ _old_ _,_ _there_ _was_ _no_ _person_ _in_ _Kurtis_ _’_ _life_ _apart_ _from his_ _own_ _mother,_ _and_ _a_ _distant_ _and_ _unreal_ _father_ _who_ _he_ _wouldn't_ _even_ _know_ _until he was_ _seventeen._

 _I_ _think_ _Marie_ _had_ _harboured_ _the_ _secret_ _hope_ _her_ _son_ _wouldn_ _’_ _t_ _inherit the_ _Gift_ _and_ _would_ _never_ _have_ _to_ _know_ _about_ _the_ _Order_ _and_ _the_ _War_ _of_ _Shadows._ _It_ _’_ _s_ _relatable_ _,_ _as_ _the_ _Gift_ _demands_ _a_ _bitter_ _price_ _in_ _exchange,_ _and_ _I_ _guess_ _we_ _all_ _would've_ _preferred_ _our_ _children_ _to be_ _normal_ _-_ _whatever_ _this is,_ _rather_ _than_ _ending_ _crucified_ _in_ _the_ _dark._

 _Unfortunately,_ _Marie's_ _wishes_ _weren't_ _fulfilled._ _Kurtis,_ _at_ _only_ _four_ _years_ _old,_ _had_ _to_ _witness – or rather overhear -_ _how_ _Eckhardt_ _crushed_ _and_ _quartered_ _the_ _Grand_ _Master_ _at_ _the_ _time,_ _who'd_ _sheltered them_ _in_ _his_ _basement._ _Presumably_ _he_ _'_ _d_ _never_ _forget_ _something_ _like_ _that_ _-_ _though_ _of_ _course_ _we've_ _never_ _heard_ _him_ _talk_ _of_ _it,_ _nor_ _of_ _what_ _happened_ _at_ _his_ _10_ _years_ _of_ _age._

 _He_ _was_ _indeed_ _ten_ _years old_ _when_ _three_ _Cabal mercenaries_ _broke_ _our_ _protective_ _circle_ _and_ _killed_ _Stevens,_ _the_ _brother_ _protecting_ _Marie at the time._ _Those_ _savages_ _broke_ _into_ _the_ _house_ _and_ _attempted_ _to_ _rape_ _the_ _mother_ _in front of her_ _son._ _What_ _happened_ _then_ _can_ _only_ _be_ _explained_ _by_ _a_ _reaction_ _of_ _terror_ _against_ _something_ _he_ _didn_ _’_ _t fully_ _understand._ _Kurtis_ _’_ _fear_ _and_ _anguish_ _gathered_ _and_ _imploded_ _in_ _his_ _mind,_ _releasing_ _an_ _energy_ _which_ _destroyed_ _the_ _fragile_ _elements_ _around_ _him_ _– the window panes,_ _and_ _killed_ _the_ _attackers_ _with_ _a_ _rain_ _of_ _sharp_ _objects._ _For_ _us_ _this signal_ _was_ _more_ _than_ _enough._ _Kurtis_ _had_ _awakened to_ _the_ _Gift_ _._

 _Konstantin_ _Heissturm_ _was_ _so_ _proud_ _when knowing this_ _,_ _but_ _even_ _though_ _he_ _wished_ _he_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _meet_ _him yet._ _He_ _was_ _now_ _a_ _leader_ _in_ _the_ _war_ _\- which_ _sounds_ _blasphemous,_ _but_ _he_ _was_ _more_ _respected_ _than_ _the_ _Grand_ _Master_ _himself,_ _and_ _he_ _was_ _in_ _fact_ _our_ _only_ _hope._ _Konstantin_ _was_ _an_ _excellent_ _strategist_ _and_ _could_ _stay_ _calm_ _even_ _in_ _desperate_ _times._ _Much_ _of_ _his_ _coldness_ _and_ _lack_ _of_ _expression,_ _if_ _not_ _all,_ _was_ _inherited_ _by_ _his_ _son._ _Well,_ _as_ _Gerdhart's_ _son,_ _Konstantin had_ _exceeded his father_ _a_ _hundred_ _times,_ _and_ _immediately_ _we_ _expected_ _as_ _much_ _as_ _or_ _even_ _more_ _from_ _that_ _child,_ _who_ _suddenly_ _had_ _become_ _a_ _living_ _legend._

 _But_ _Marie_ _refused, once more,_ _to_ _live_ _with_ _us._ _A_ _Lux_ _Veritatis_ _’_ _strict_ _training_ _begins_ _at_ _seventeen_ _,_ _we_ _believe_ _it_ _’_ _s_ _important_ _to_ _advise_ _the_ _child_ _from_ _a_ _very_ _early_ _age,_ _helping_ _him_ _to_ _understand_ _his_ _special_ _condition_ _and_ _to_ _love_ _and_ _master_ _it._ _Marie_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _let_ _us_ _do_ _that_ _and_ _pushed_ _him_ _away_ _as_ _she_ _could,_ _away_ _from_ _the_ _Order._ _Was_ _she_ _supposed_ _to_ _be_ _blamed_ _for_ _what_ _happened_ _next?_ _Was_ _it_ _she_ _who_ _instilled_ _a_ _rebellious_ _spirit in Kurtis,_ _that_ _defied_ _all_ _our_ _conceptions_ _and_ _shook_ _the_ _Order_ _’_ _s_ _foundations?_ _I_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _dare_ _to_ _say_ _so._

 

* * *

 

 _Kurtis_ _disappeared_ _at_ _nineteen._ _It_ _was_ _then_ _when_ _he_ _finally_ _met_ _his_ _father_ _who_ _,_ _rejecting_ _Marie_ _’_ _s_ _protests,_ _introduced_ _him_ _to_ _the_ _Order._ _I_ _was_ _then_ _present_ _at_ _the_ _conclave_ _held_ _in_ _Berlin,_ _and_ _I_ _could_ _see_ _him for the first time._ _No_ _doubt_ _he_ _was_ _a_ _portrait_ _of_ _his_ _father -_ _a_ _tall_ _and_ _strong_ _boy,_ _a_ _stern_ _look,_ _really promising_ _._ _After_ _undergoing_ _with_ _resignation_ _all_ _the_ _tests_ _we_ _performed on_ _to_ _him,_ _it turned out_ _the_ _Gift_ _was_ _very_ _powerful_ _in_ _him,_ _as_ _it_ _was_ _in_ _his_ _father_ _and_ _had_ _been_ _in_ _his_ _grandfather._ _We_ _were_ _excited_ _-_ _as_ _soon_ _as_ _we_ _train_ _him,_ _he'd_ _become_ _stronger._

 _I_ _remember_ _Marie_ _being_ _sullen_ _in_ _those_ _days,_ _walking_ _down_ _the_ _halls_ _of_ _our_ _headquarters._ _Never_ _seen_ _her_ _so_ _angry._ _Because_ _of_ _my_ _vicious_ _curiosity,_ _I_ _witnessed_ _an_ _argument_ _between_ _her_ _and_ _her_ _husband._ _Konstantin_ _said_ _this_ _son_ _was_ _a_ _gift_ _from_ _heaven to_ _help_ _the_ _Order_ _to_ _overcome_ _the_ _crisis_ _and_ _perhaps_ _defeat_ _Eckhardt_ _and_ _free all of us at last_ _._

 _I_ _recall_ _exactly_ _what_ _Marie_ _answered:_ _"You_ _intend_ _to_ _use_ _him_ _as_ _a_ _weapon!_ _What's_ _wrong_ _with_ _your_ _Order?_ _Don_ _’_ _t_ _you_ _care_ _about_ _the_ _blood_ _of_ _your_ _loved_ _ones?_ _You_ _'v_ _e_ _your_ _new_ _Messiah to be_ _sacrificed for_ _this_ _futile_ _cause_ _,_ _as_ _your_ _father_ _was_ _sacrificed_ _,_ _and_ _as_ _you_ _will_ _be_ _sacrificed_ _too!_ _”_ _Then_ _she_ _began_ _to_ _cry_ _and_ _wouldn't_ _see_ _anyone_ _for_ _weeks._ _She only allowed her son_ _into_ _her_ _room,_ _and_ _told_ _him_ _all_ _the_ _time:_ _"Run,_ _Kurtis,_ _run away_ _from_ _here._ _This_ _cause_ _serves_ _only_ _to_ _destroy_ _lives._ _Don_ _’_ _t_ _let_ _them_ _to_ _use_ _you._ _Run_ _away_ _from_ _here."_

 _I_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _say_ _he_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _try - but_ _he_ _tried_ _too_ _late._ _He bumped against_ _our_ _defenses,_ _our_ _invisible_ _walls._ _A_ _Lux_ _Veritatis_ _’ training_ _is_ _long_ _and_ _hard,_ _and_ _discipline_ _is_ _very_ _harsh_ _._ _R_ _ebels_ _are_ _punished_ _without_ _mercy,_ _and_ _Kurtis_ _was_ _more_ _rebellious_ _than_ _everyone_ _._ _He_ _was_ _punished_ _when_ _he_ _refused training_ _._ _He_ _was_ _punished_ _when_ _he_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _answer_ _our_ _questions._ _He_ _was_ _punished_ _when_ _he_ _tried_ _to_ _escape._ _He_ _was_ _punished_ _when_ _he_ _attacked_ _his_ _own_ _instructors._

 _He_ _was_ _a_ _very_ _temperamental_ _boy,_ _with_ _regular_ _outbursts_ _of_ _rage_ _and_ _violence_ _._ _Unwilling_ _to_ _surrender_ _to_ _our_ _commands_ _,_ _h_ _e_ _barely_ _controlled_ _his_ _skills,_ _and_ _once_ _he_ _almost_ _killed_ _one_ _of_ _the_ _instructors._ _He_ _burst_ _a_ _vein_ _in_ _his_ _stomach_ _just_ _by_ _piercing_ _him_ _with_ _his_ _eyes_ _and_ _the poor lad_ _almost_ _died_ _there,_ _vomiting_ _blood._ _We_ _saved_ _him_ _at the verge of death_ _._

 _Although Kurtis_ _was shocked_ _and_ _horrified_ _,_ _and we all were aware he didn't intend to murder his instructor,_ _he_ _was_ _given_ _the hardest_ _punishment._ _By_ _then_ _I_ _was_ _a_ _member_ _of_ _the_ _Council_ _and_ _I_ _strongly_ _objected -_ _he_ _was_ _still_ _a_ _student_ _who_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _intend to kill_ _,_ _and_ _if we punished him we'd only manage_ _to_ _gain_ _his_ _hatred_ _forever._ _But_ _they_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _listen_ _to_ _me._

 _An_ _attempted_ _murder_ _in_ _the_ _Order_ _is_ _punishable_ _by_ _fifty lashes_ _and_ _being_ _neglected_ _in_ _a_ _cold,_ _dark_ _cell_ _for_ _ten_ _days_ _without_ _food. The_ _whip_ _was_ _packed_ _with_ _small_ _metal pieces_ _,_ _and_ _in_ _the_ _cell_ _everyone_ _was_ _naked_ _and_ _had_ _to_ _stand_ _up_ _since_ _it_ _was_ _monstrously_ _narrow._ _The_ _reader_ _will_ _understand_ _it_ _was_ _such a cruel_ _punishment_ _f_ _or_ _a_ _young_ _boy who_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _control_ _his_ _immense power_ _._

 _The_ _elders ordered that_ _Marie_ _mustn't_ _know_ _that._ _At_ _that_ _time_ _she_ _lived_ _in_ _a_ _separate_ _block_ _and lived inwardly,_ _and_ _Konstantin_ _had_ _gone_ _back_ _to_ _the_ _war_ _._ _I_ _refused_ _to_ _be_ _present_ _at_ _the_ _punishment_ _and_ _then_ _I_ _spent_ _four_ _days_ _without_ _talking_ _to_ _my_ _colleagues_ _in_ _the_ _Council._ _I_ _was_ _very_ _confused._

 _Finally,_ _I_ _decided_ _to_ _visit_ _him._ _He'd_ _spent_ _five_ _days_ _in_ _the_ _cell_ _,_ _standing_ _up but_ _leaning_ _on_ _the_ _back_ _wall._ _His_ _eyes_ _were_ _closed_ _and_ _arms_ _folded_ _across_ _his_ _chest._ _I_ _felt_ _appalled_ _at_ _his status, the bruised body spotted with clotted blood_ _._ _The_ _skin_ _had_ _a_ _bluish_ _tone_ _and_ _his_ _lips_ _were_ _purple._ _It_ _was_ _easy_ _to_ _guess,_ _naked_ _as_ _he_ _was,_ _his_ _state_ _of_ _hypothermia._

 _“_ _Brother...”_ _I_ _murmured._

 _He_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _see_ _me_ _through_ _the_ _bars_ _and_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _hear_ _my_ _voice_ _clearly,_ _but_ _he_ _opened_ _his_ _eyes_ _and_ _looked_ _at_ _me._ _The way he glared at me_ _was_ _enough_ _to read_ _the_ _deepest_ _hatred_ _in_ _it_ _._ _“_ _Are_ _you_ _one_ _of_ _those_ _Council_ _butchers?”_

 _I_ _gulped._ _“_ _I_ _voted_ _against_ _your_ _punishment._ _Brother,_ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _do_ _more_ _to_ _help_ _you._ _You_ _must_ _surrender_ _and_ _undergo_ _the_ _training.”_

 _“_ _Don_ _’_ _t_ _want_ _any_ _of_ _your_ _Order_ _or_ _your_ _powers.”_

 _“_ _Brother,_ _what_ _Marie_ _said_ _to_ _you...”_

 _“_ _Leave_ _my_ _mother_ _alone._ _D_ _on_ _’_ _t_ _need_ _her_ _to_ _tell_ _me_ _anything._ _I've_ _seen_ _with_ _my_ _own_ _eyes._ _Here_ _you_ _send_ _people_ _to_ _be_ _slaughtered_ _in_ _a_ _war_ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _know_ _for_ _a_ _cause_ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _care about._ _I_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _be_ _your_ _martyr_ _.”_

 _I_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _know_ _what_ _to_ _say - it_ _was_ _the_ _first_ _time_ _I_ _faced_ _such a brutal_ _vision_ _of_ _what_ _was_ _the_ _Order._ _“_ _Son,_ _even_ _if_ _you_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _like it,_ _your psychic powers are_ _too_ _strong._ _We_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _let_ _you_ _go_ _throughout_ _the_ _world_ _without_ _a_ _full_ _knowledge_ _of_ _your_ _skills_ _and_ _how_ _to_ _control_ _them._ _You're_ _a_ _Fighter,_ _Kurtis,_ _and_ _this_ _implies_ _a_ _great_ _responsibility.”_

 _“_ _I_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _use_ _those_ _powers_ _at_ _all._ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _want_ _them.”_

 _“_ _If_ _you_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _control_ _them,_ _then_ _they_ _will_ _control_ _you._ _You_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _refuse._ _They_ _will_ _arise_ _in_ _you_ _when_ _not_ _invoked._ _They_ _will_ _come_ _to_ _your_ _defense_ _when_ _you're_ _in_ _danger._ _You_ _must_ _learn_ _to_ _control_ _them._ _If_ _not,_ _you_ _’_ _ll_ _be_ _like_ _a_ _walking_ _time_ _bomb._ _You_ _will_ _be_ _a_ _danger_ _to_ _anyone_ _near_ _you._ _Surrender!”_

 _He_ _studied_ _me_ _with_ _his_ _blue_ _eyes._ _E_ _ven_ _though_ _blue_ _eyes_ _are_ _a_ _recessive_ _genotype,_ _Gerhardt Heissturm_ _had_ _passed_ _them_ _to_ _Konstantin,_ _Konstantin_ _to_ _Kurtis,_ _and_ _I_ _know_ _the_ _wives_ _of_ _both_ _had_ _dark_ _eyes,_ _which are the_ _dominant_ _genotype._ _Both_ _Konstantin_ _and_ _Kurtis_ _should_ _have_ _had_ _dark_ _eyes._ _Could_ _that_ _strange_ _color_ _of_ _eyes_ _be_ _a_ _genetic_ _manifestation_ _of_ _the_ _strongest_ _Gift_ _our_ _Order_ _has ever known_ _?_

 _But_ _I_ _digress_ _as_ _the_ _ailing_ _old man_ _I_ _am._ _Back_ _to_ _what_ _matters._

 _“_ _If_ _I_ _let_ _you_ _to_ _train_ _me,”_ _he_ _muttered_ _then_ _, “_ _will_ _you_ _leave_ _me_ _alone_ _?”_

 _I_ _shook_ _my_ _head._ _“Hardly_ _,_ _Kurtis._ _You've_ _too_ _much_ _power._ _Your_ _skills_ _are_ _valuable_ _to_ _us...”_

 _“_ _I_ _’_ _m_ _your_ _weapon,_ _right?_ _The_ _Messiah.”_

 _Ah,_ _his_ _grin,_ _his_ _sarcastic_ _grin!_

 _“_ _We_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _rejoice_ _in_ _the_ _deaths_ _of_ _our_ _brothers._ _We_ _cry_ _for_ _them._ _But_ _the_ _cause_ _of_ _the Black_ _Alchemist_ _and_ _the_ _Nephili_ _is_ _something_ _that,_ _if_ _not_ _stopped,_ _will_ _eventually_ _consume_ _the_ _world_ _and_ _end_ _humanity._ _Now_ _we_ _’_ _re_ _us_ _who_ _suffer,_ _Kurtis,_ _but_ _if_ _we_ _quit_ _,_ _they_ _will_ _step on_ _us,_ _then_ _mankind will suffer._ _.._ _innocent,_ _helpless people,_ _without_ _a_ _Gift_ _to_ _protect_ _them._ _That's_ _why_ _we_ _endure_ _and_ _die._ _I_ _f_ _they_ _defeat_ _us,_ _all_ _is_ _lost.”_

 _He_ _separated_ _from_ _the_ _wall_ _and_ _approached_ _the_ _door._ _I_ _stepped_ _back._ _I'm ashamed_ _to_ _admit_ _I_ _was_ _scared - of_ _his_ _blue_ _eyes._ _He_ _could_ _induce in_ _me_ _a_ _brain_ _stroke,_ _if_ _he_ _wanted._ _Blessed Light_ _,_ _I_ _was_ _terrified._

 _“_ _Let's_ _make_ _a_ _deal,_ _you,_ _the fucking_ _Council,_ _and_ _me.” He_ _said,_ _smiling_ _. “_ _I'll_ _let_ _you_ _do_ _whatever_ _you_ _want_ _with_ _me._ _Make_ _me_ _become_ _a_ _beautiful_ _suicidal_ _killing_ _machine._ _And_ _then_ _we'll_ _talk.” He_ _stepped_ _back_ _and_ _leaned_ _back_ _against_ _the_ _wall_ _,_ _shivering_ _,_ _covered_ _in_ _blood._

 _I_ _rushed_ _back_ _to_ _the_ _Council_ _and_ _had_ _him_ _released._

* * *

 

 _From_ _that_ _moment,_ _he_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _object_ _to_ _the_ _trials_ _of_ _training - but_ _certainly_ _we_ _hadn_ _’_ _t_ _won._ _He_ _surrendered_ _with the greatest bitterness to_ _everything_ _we_ _demanded_ _,_ _and_ _we_ _demanded_ _much more from him than_ _from_ _any_ _other_ _Fighter._ _But_ _as_ _he_ _wasn_ _’_ _t_ _any other_ _Fighter,_ _it felt_ _perfectly_ _justified._ _We_ _realize_ _we_ _were_ _harsh_ _and_ _even_ _unpleasant,_ _and_ _we_ _used_ _his_ _pride_ _to_ _oblige_ _him,_ _since_ _he'd_ _sworn_ _to_ _himself_ _not_ _to_ _show_ _weakness_ _in_ _our_ _eyes,_ _and_ _we_ _knew_ _it._ _Over_ _time,_ _we_ _made_ _him_ _the_ _best_ _Fighter_ _the_ _Order_ _had_ _ever_ _known_ _so_ _far..._ _or_ _he_ _might_ _have_ _been,_ _if_ _he'd_ _wanted_ _to._ _We_ _wrote_ _to_ _Konstantin_ _and_ _told_ _him:_ _"Your_ _son_ _has_ _outgrown_ _you."_ _He_ _was_ _very_ _pleased._

 _How_ _wrong_ _we_ _were._ _With_ _every_ _glance_ _,_ _with_ _every_ _silence,_ _Kurtis_ _promised_ _payback_ _._ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _reveal_ _the_ _secret_ _rituals_ _and_ _tests_ _we_ _conducted_ _on_ _our_ _apprentices,_ _and_ _I_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _even_ _if_ _my_ _skin_ _is_ _pulled_ _up_ _in_ _strips._ _The_ _secret_ _is sacred, and I’ll take it to the grave. His coldness and suicidal_ _loathing when facing_ _our_ _challenges somewhat_ _frightened_ _us,_ _but_ _we'd_ _never_ _suspected_ _he_ _counted_ _every_ _day_ _as_ _a_ _step_ _towards_ _freedom_ _and_ _the_ _day_ _of_ _reckoning_ _._

 _On_ _the_ _eve_ _of_ _his_ _appointment,_ _having successfully_ _finished_ _his_ _training,_ _we_ _told_ _him_ _he'd_ _be_ _immediately_ _sent_ _to_ _the battlefield_ _to_ _devote himself_ _completely_ _to_ _war._ _We_ _told_ _him_ _he_ _was_ _the_ _instrument_ _of_ _our_ _victory._ _He_ _just_ _smiled._

 _That_ _night,_ _for_ _the_ _first_ _time,_ _he_ _attempted_ _suicide._ _We_ _weren't_ _expecting_ _such a_ _thing._ _For_ _us,_ _suicide_ _is_ _a_ _cowardly,_ _shameful,_ _unworthy_ _act._ _Indeed,_ _very_ _unworthy_ _of_ _him,_ _or_ _the_ _image_ _we'd_ _of_ _him._

 _Then_ _he_ _tried_ _three_ _more_ _times._ _He_ _tried_ _to_ _hang_ _himself, then_ _he_ _slit_ _his_ _wrists,_ _and_ _finally_ _we_ _imprisoned_ _him_ _and_ _he_ _broke_ _the_ _lamp_ _bulb_ _on_ _the_ _cell_ _and_ _swallowed_ _the_ _broken_ _glass._ _This_ _time_ _we_ _barely managed to_ _save_ _him - and he hated_ _us_ _even_ _more for that._ _Why?_

 _When_ _those_ _suicidal_ _tendencies_ _appeared_ _to_ _be_ _reversing,_ _he_ _began_ _the_ _ritual_ _of_ _consecration._ _For_ _many_ _of_ _us_ _he_ _wasn't_ _ready._ _I_ _literally_ _claimed_ _he_ _was_ _disturbed_ _and_ _was_ _a_ _danger_ _rather_ _than_ _the_ _salvation_ _of_ _the_ _Order. Again,_ _I_ _wasn_ _’_ _t_ _listened to._ _His_ _skills,_ _cleverness_ _and_ _resources_ _were_ _so_ _impressive_ _that_ _too_ _many_ _were_ _blinded_ _to the reality_ _._

 _He_ _went_ _through_ _the_ _rituals_ _with_ _meekness_ _and_ _let_ _us_ _to_ _tattoo_ _the_ _Sacred_ _Symbol_ _on_ _his_ _shoulder - but_ _the_ _day_ _before_ _going_ _to_ _battle,_ _he_ _disappeared._

 _If_ _only_ _had_ _been_ _that - but_ _he_ _committed_ _the_ _greatest_ _sacrilege._ _He_ _killed_ _one_ _of_ _our_ _brothers,_ _a_ _colleague,_ _a_ _Fighter,_ _who_ _tried_ _to_ _stop him_ _._ _He_ _stood_ _in his way_ _,_ _they_ _fought_ _and_ _he_ _killed_ _him._ _Then, he_ _fled._

 _For_ _many_ _of the elders_ _it_ _was_ _a_ _shock_ _._ _For_ _me,_ _a foretold_ _catastrophe._ _They_ _blamed_ _Marie,_ _considered_ _an_ _accomplice_ _to_ _the_ _flight_ _._ _I_ _’_ _m_ _ashamed_ _of_ _this_ _because_ _she'd_ _had_ _enough_ _with_ _her_ _inner_ _suffering._ _We_ _scolded_ _her_ _and_ _she also_ _left_ _after_ _a_ _few_ _days. Nothing_ _tied_ _her_ _to_ _us anymore_ _._

 _When_ _Konstantin_ _learned of_ _this he disowned_ _his_ _son,_ _in_ _whom_ _he'd_ _pinned_ _all_ _his_ _hopes. Now he'd_ _betrayed_ _and ashamed_ _him._

 

* * *

 

 _From_ _this_ _point,_ _my_ _information_ _about_ _brother_ _Kurtis_ _becomes_ _scattered._ _He_ _appeared_ _to_ _be_ _reunited_ _with_ _his_ _mother_ _and_ _sought_ _for_ _her_ _a_ _safe_ _haven._ _Then,_ _he_ _joined_ _the_ _Foreign_ _Legion,_ _the_ _most_ _disciplined_ _faction_ _in_ _the French_ _Army,_ _where_ _criminals_ _serve_ _in_ _exchange_ _for eluding_ _punishment._ _Of_ _course,_ _he_ _was_ _extremely_ _smart_ _in_ _doing_ _that,_ _as_ _any_ _personal_ _background_ _is_ _wiped away_ _to_ _hide the legionnaire's_ _identity._ _He_ _adopted_ _a_ _false_ _surname, Trent,_ _and_ _I_ _guess_ _he_ _spent_ _those_ _years_ _venting_ _his_ _anger_ _and_ _violence._ _If_ _death_ _was_ _what_ _he_ _wanted,_ _certainly_ _he_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _find_ _it,_ _and_ _after_ _a_ _while_ _he'_ _d to quit due to_ _"strange_ _events_ _and_ _phenomena_ _that_ _terrified_ _his_ _superiors."_

 _I_ _know_ _what_ _it_ _was._ _Demons - at_ _last_ _they_ _had_ _found_ _him,_ _and_ _they_ _will_ _chase_ _him_ _forever. He_ _will_ _be_ _chased_ _until_ _his_ _death._

 _Then_ _I_ _received_ _news_ _he_ _joined_ _Marten_ _Gunderson's Agency -_ _a_ _visceral_ _gross squad_ _without_ _past_ _n_ _or_ _future_ _which_ _,_ _to_ _make_ _things_ _worse,_ _went_ _on_ _to_ _serve_ _no_ _less_ _than_ _the_ _Cabal._ _Kurtis_ _fled_ _shortly_ _after_ _knowing_ _it - fortunately._

 _From_ _that_ _moment on,_ _I_ _lost_ _his_ _track._ _I_ _was_ _told_ _he'd_ _decided_ _to_ _avenge_ _Konstantin's_ _death,_ _but_ _it's_ _the_ _attempt_ _of_ _a_ _madman._ _Now_ _that_ _we're_ _almost_ _all_ _dead,_ _now_ _that_ _he's_ _alone,_ _his_ _amazing_ _skills_ _will_ _be_ _useless._

 _My_ _anger_ _is_ _due to_ _my own_ _bitterness,_ _I_ _know._ _But_ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _understand_ _him._ _Perhaps_ _... perhaps_ _the_ _answer_ _is_ _that_ _brother_ _Kurtis_ _hates_ _himself_ _as_ _much_ _as_ _he_ _hates_ _us._ _He's_ _chosen_ _a_ _life_ _of_ _hardship_ _and_ _despair –_ _not much different to_ _what_ _he_ _would've_ _endured_ _in_ _the_ _Order._ _I_ _believe it's not_ _fair_ _to_ _judge_ _him at this point._ _Who_ _knows...perhaps_ _it's us who_ _were wrong._ _Perhaps_ _that's_ _why_ _we_ _’_ _ve_ _lost this war_ _.”_

 

* * *

 

The writing stopped there. Lara looked up, her temples throbbing as if a headache was about to burst her skull open.

So that was it - the reason, seen through the eyes of a close one, of Kurtis' introversion, coldness and isolation. That was, at least in part, the man with whom she'd fallen in love.

Truth be told, after all, she neither disliked nor hated him - she just saw everything clearer: how close they were, how much they were alike. A life imposed by obligation. A suffocating life anyone would want to escape from.

She, however, never attempted to kill herself. But she was never demanded hard physical training – she chose it freely. She'd never been tortured, nor sent to kill and die for a cause she didn’t believe in. She smiled bitterly.

The British explorer stood, holding the bundle of papers, when suddenly one slipped to the ground. She hadn't seen it before. After picking it up surprised, she noticed it was a paper crumpled into a ball and spotted with dark bloodstains. She smoothed it a bit and read it. Then she lifted her head and looked around, stunned. Nothing justified the presence of that paper there - it made no sense...

 

* * *

 

 _Name's_ _Kurtis Trent,_ _son_ _of_ _Marie_ _Cornel_ _and_ _Konstantin Heissturm,_ _not Trent because_ _that_ _wasn't_ _his_ _real_ _name,_ _but_ _a_ _nickname_ _I_ _chose_ _when_ _I_ _decided_ _to_ _disappear_ _from_ _the_ _world_ _and_ _get_ _lost_ _in_ _the_ _Legion._

 _Y'know,_ _when_ _you_ _join_ _the_ _Legion,_ _you_ _become_ _a_ _killing_ _machine with_ _no_ _past_ _and_ _a_ _future_ _that doesn’t matter_ _,_ _made_ _of_ _steel_ _inside_ _and_ _out_ _and_ _you_ _get_ _to_ _forget_ _you_ _were_ _once_ _something_ _else._ _The_ _Legion_ _is_ _a_ _refuge_ _for_ _murderers,_ _no_ _matter_ _your_ _background,_ _any_ _atrocity_ _you_ _'_ _ve_ _committed_ _is_ _cleared_ _by_ _the_ _service_ _you_ _provide,_ _a_ _hard_ _service_ _in_ _the_ _harshest_ _faction_ _of_ _the_ _Ar_ _my,_ _where_ _just_ _coughing_ _before_ _a_ _superior_ _earns you such_ _punishment_ _to_ _make_ _you_ _lose_ _the_ _urge_ _to_ _cough_ _forever._

 _But_ _I_ _wasn_ _’_ _t_ _a_ _criminal - at_ _least_ _when_ _I_ _got_ _there._ _It_ _wasn_ _’_ _t_ _like_ _the_ _others,_ _I_ _wasn_ _’_ _t_ _looking_ _to become_ _the_ _killing_ _machine_ _I_ _became,_ _nor_ _did_ _I_ _enjoy_ _it._ _I_ _just_ _wanted_ _to_ _wipe_ _my_ _past_ _and_ _leave_ _behind_ _my cursed_ _fate._

 _I'm_ _the_ _last_ _of_ _the_ _Lux_ _Veritatis,_ _a_ _mystical_ _a_ _ncient_ _Order_ _of_ _warriors_ _butchered_ _by_ _the_ _Cabal,_ _that_ _den_ _of_ _rats_ _led_ _by_ _the_ _sadistic_ _Eckhardt._ _I_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _say_ _we_ _were_ _innocent - but_ _they_ _were_ _evil_ _while_ _we_ _were_ _the_ _“_ _good_ _guys”_ _._ _Or_ _so_ _I_ _was_ _taught._ _Now_ _I_ _can't tell anymore_ _._

 _Was_ _I_ _a_ _coward_ _for_ _escaping_ _from_ _a_ _war_ _in_ _which_ _I_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _want_ _to_ _be,_ _to_ _refuse_ _a_ _G_ _ift_ _granted_ _to_ _me_ _and_ _deny_ _an_ _imposed_ _destination,_ _to_ _seek_ _refuge_ _in_ _the_ _Legion?_ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _know what honor is,_ _but_ _I_ _know_ _there's_ _no_ _honor_ _in_ _dying_ _for a_ _cause that_ _wasn't_ _mine._

 _Those_ _five_ _years_ _I_ _spent_ _in_ _the_ _Legion were in vain -_ _th_ _ose_ _who_ _chased_ _me_ _found_ _me_ _and_ _my harsh_ _superiors_ _shook_ _with_ _fear_ _when they saw_ _what_ _I_ _was_ _or_ _could_ _become._ _I_ _had_ _to_ _flee again -_ _al_ _l_ _life_ _on_ _the_ _run,_ _fleeing_ _from_ _this_ _cursed_ _inheritance,_ _which_ _finds_ _you_ _wherever_ _you_ _go._

 _From_ _legionnaire_ _I_ _became_ _a_ _mercenary._ _I_ _committed_ _atrocities_ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _want_ _to_ _remember._ _My_ _poor_ _mother,_ _who_ _sacrificed_ _everything_ _for_ _me,_ _would_ _be_ _ashamed_ _to_ _know._ _Ironically_ _,_ _who_ _was_ _then_ _my_ _boss_ _and_ _my_ _best_ _friend,_ _Marten_ _Gunderson,_ _would_ _become_ _Eckhardt's_ _right_ _hand._ _One_ _of_ _the_ _cruellest_ _ironies_ _of_ _life_ _is_ _that_ _for_ _a_ _long_ _time_ _he_ _'_ _d_ _been_ _looking_ _for_ _me_ _without_ _knowing_ _it_ _was_ _me._ _B_ _efore_ _he_ _found out_ _I_ _'_ _d_ _fled_ _once more._

 _And_ _then_ _they_ _killed_ _my_ _father,_ _Konstantin Heissturm,_ _the_ _warrior,_ _who_ _never_ _refused_ _a fight_ _,_ _who_ _sacrificed_ _himself_ _for_ _his_ _Order_ _to_ _the_ _end._ _I_ _barely_ _got_ _to_ _know_ _him, but_ _for_ _him_ _I_ _took_ _an_ _oath._ _I was done with_ _denying_ _who I was._ _I_ _resigned_ _myself_ _to_ _be_ _Kurtis_ _Heissturm, the_ _Demon_ _Hunter._

 _S_ _eems_ _I_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _get_ _rid_ _of_ _this oath until I_ _see_ _Eckhardt_ _dead_ _and_ _paying_ _for_ _his_ _crimes._ _Not_ _until_ _justice_ _is_ _served_ _._

 _And_ _I've_ _been_ _alone..._ _until_ _now._ _Someone_ _gave_ _me_ _a_ _helping_ _hand_ _from_ _the_ _other_ _side,_ _a_ _woman_ _as_ _unique_ _as_ _extraordinary._ _Her_ _cause_ _is_ _n'_ _t_ _mine_ _but_ _she_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _hesitate_ _to_ _avenge_ _all_ _of_ _us..._ _including_ _me,_ _who I'm dying_ _over_ _this_ _grid,_ _slowly_ _bleeding_ _while_ _I_ _wait_ _for_ _her_ _return._ _S_ _he_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _fail as_ _I_ _failed._ _In_ _her_ _hands_ _lies_ _the_ _end_ _of_ _it_ _all. My_ _Order_ _and_ _my_ _father_ _will_ _be_ _avenged_ _by_ _an_ _unknown_ _woman..._

 _Shadows_ _dance_ _around_ _me_ _and_ _cloud my_ _vision._ _This p_ _ain_ _is_ _so_ _strong_ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _almost_ _feel_ _it._ _Return_ _Lara_ _victorious_ _to_ _me,_ _I_ _'_ _ll_ _show_ _you_ _the_ _way._ _I'm_ _not_ _dead_ _yet and_ _to_ _die_ _is_ _the_ _last_ _thing_ _I_ _’_ _ll_ _do...that_ _’_ _s_ _a_ _Lux_ _Veritatis_ _oath!_


	35. The Voice in the Dark

Giselle looked out the window and took the coffee cup to her lips, then she set it aside and looked mechanically at the crimson lipstick imprint she'd just left on the cup edge. Since she was 15 years old, absolutely every day of her life she would get up and put on make-up carefully. Her mother had taught both her and Kristina that make-up made the ugly beautiful and the beautiful further beautified - and both had always been very beautiful. She'd never missed the ritual in front of the mirror where with dedicated focus she covered her white skin with a touch of colour, highlighting the green of her eyes and painting her lips in red, giving herself a truly exquisite appearance. At least, until Kristina had suffered that terrible accident which disfigured her face. The most skilful surgery hadn’t been enough to completely restore her lost beauty.

Giselle was very attractive, and could've had any man she wanted. Her slender figure, her delicate face, and her soft voice made her infinitely sensual. However, her coldness and her vocation devoted to science in body and soul had made her become a strange laboratory goddess, as insensitive as inaccessible. She'd closed the door to be happier herself. She was still young - twenty-eight years was nothing. There was still time for...

She didn’t realize the cup had slipped from her fingers until she heard the dull crashing to the ground. The sound startled her but she didn’t lower her gaze.

“Doctor...” Schäffer approached her from behind. She went rigid, staring at the beautiful seascape, with hands still in position of holding. “Adolf...” She murmured, her voice cracking.

The burly mercenary bent, picked up the cup shards and tossed them into a nearby waste-basket. Then he turned and looked at her with a critical eye. She hadn’t moved.

“May I speak with confidence from now, Giselle? I won’t unless you authorize me, but there’s something I want to tell you.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head. The doctor turned to face him, her eyes dilated.  “Giselle, we've hit bottom. From now on, the way forward is gone. Decisions must be made.” She didn’t react. Schäffer went to her and grabbed her elbow. “Open your eyes, Boaz! We’re alone in this. We've to think of something to do. Staying here in this fortress will only hasten our fall.”

“What did I do wrong?” She whispered, stunned. “I've given everything for science - everything for Eckhardt, for Joach... Joachim. I gave my uterus to breed a being more beautiful than any flower and more powerful than a raging ocean. I killed Gertrude, who was the oldest of us. I risked everything. What have I done wrong?” Her voice trembled.

Schäffer himself was aware that situation humiliated her and later he'd pay for having seen her so vulnerable - but he shrugged. “You must forget the Lady... your daughter. Look, she’s not human. For some time she's been following her own path. She marked a destination for herself we don’t understand and so she refuses to share with us.” He hesitated. “I'm not smart, Giselle, just a man of action...but I learn from my mistakes, and especially from the mistakes of others. All who came before us, strong and weak, mortal and immortal, have fallen. We’re alone and we have hit bottom. We must think what to do next.”

The young scientist took two steps and sat at the table. “Are you talking about leaving my experiments, my patients?”

“Your doctors and assistants will take care of them. You've been a good Mistress and they will know how to go on.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What would I do out of my world?”

Schäffer's mouth twitched. “Giselle, Giselle... it’s shameful to see how you waste yourself. No, let me finish. I won’t woo you like a drunk or tell you obscenities like that Italian asshole. That rage should have its way out, my pretty, otherwise you’ll explode. You fell in love with a being that wasn’t for you, who would never be yours even if you'd begged him on your knees...”

For a moment the woman's cheeks flushed and she returned to being Dr. Boaz - she stood up, furious, on her two heels, and exploded: “How dare you? Insolent! Who told you...!”

“Please forgive me. That was rude. But it was an open secret, my darling. Don’t think I made fun of you. Even the boss Gunderson pitied you.”

Giselle snorted - for her, her servant’s compassion was worse than her enemies’ hatred. “All that has to do with Joachim Karel is ancient history.”

“You sure, pretty?” He walked up to her and looked at her with affection. “You still mourn him at night. We tortured the Lux Veritatis so viciously we almost killed him - but it wasn’t enough for you. When will you rest, Giselle Boaz? What does it take for you to find peace, so you can love again, so you can erase the face of that ruthless Nephilim from your eyes and your memory?”

Then something happened she hadn’t anticipated. Her eyes filled with tears and slipped softly down her cheeks. Her eye make-up ran, leaving two black strands on her face. “I want them dead. I want Kurtis Trent dead. I want Lara Croft dead. I want Selma Al-Jazeera, Vladimir Ivanoff dead... I want that bloody Marcus dead... I want all who made fun of me dead. I'm sick of all this. No more torture, no more prisons. Death, Adolf! Fast death, simple and serene. I don’t care anymore about their suffering. I just want them wiped off the face of the Earth. That they can’t laugh anymore. That they can’t celebrate their victory. That they can’t do anything.”

Adolf smiled. “Killing is easy, nice doctor. You do it every day - so do I. And when they're dead, will you have peace? Will you be able to look at me as something more than your faithful servant?”

Then she looked at him speechless.

“I hope you understand I’m trying to make this easy. I've a lot of respect for you and I won’t hesitate. I’m at your service. Ask me anything and you’ll have it.”

Suddenly she laughed. She threw her head back and burst into a hearty, youthful laugh. Her teeth were pearly white. Then she rubbed her wet cheeks, black smearing over it. She imagined what her mother would've said seeing her with such appearance, and that made her laugh even more.

“Anything, Adolf Schäffer?” Giselle laughed again. “Fine. I'll leave the Island at the hands of my servants. Take all your men, here they will no longer be necessary. We'll go and find out what my daughter ails. I learned she’s into the worship of that dark goddess so adored by Gertrude. I won’t let her go, she’s very valuable and she’s still my daughter. But first...” The scientist walked two steps up to him and ran her fingers down his chin. She smiled slyly. “First, we'll kill them all. One by one. I want to be present at their death. Will you give me this, Schäffer? Perhaps this will be different once all is over.”

He smiled coldly, took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “I only live to serve you, Doctor.”

 

* * *

 

Lara found Marcus sitting on a bench under a tree outside the castle, his face thrown back so he could enjoy sunlight, ignoring the people who came and went on Bran. Seeing him, the British explorer became aware of how fragile he was, almost nothing left of him - so skinny, gaunt and aged. The clothes provided to him by Ivanoff fit him huge. In a way, his serene and resigned old age reminded her of Winston, but her faithful butler had never been locked up or starved for months.

“I know my report uneased you.” The Lux Veritatis said without opening his eyes, when he barely felt her close. “It was long ago when I wrote that and I still know so little about him. No one really knows him, not even Marie, who's been with him longer than anyone else. So I assume I can be wrong and even misjudge him, but facts are facts.”

“What about that piece of paper at the end?”

“What?”

“The one stained with blood.”

Marcus opened his eyes and looked surprised. “No, child, there's no bloodstained paper. What are you talking about?”

Lara shook the sheet before his eyes. “There's a bloodstained piece of paper at the end of your report, small and wrinkled. Seems written by Kurtis himself, but that doesn’t make sense, because that happened far away from your cell and... and the situation in which he was back then would've prevented him from writing.”

The old man's eyes narrowed. “Show me.”

Lara handed the piece of paper to him. As soon as he saw it, Marcus paled and caught it with his fingertips, as if the paper burned. Then he read it hastily, his dry lips moving rapidly, and suddenly he stood up, upset. “Where was this?”

“I’ve already told you.” Lara patiently answered. “In the manuscript.”

“I haven’t got it here! I swear this by the Light! This...” Suddenly he started walking as fast as he could towards the castle.

Lara followed him. “Marcus, what are you doing?”

The old man didn’t reply. Determined not to get angry with him, she followed him to Ivanoff’s study. Passing next to the professor, who was engaged in the reading of various manuscripts, he came to the fireplace.

“Marcus, no!” She jumped towards him, but it was too late. The Healer had thrown the note into the fire, and stared at the flames. “What did you do?” Lara said, annoyed. “Why the hell did you burn...?”

Marcus was speechless when he made her, with a sudden movement, look at the flames.

The note, which should be burnt, trembled and twitched in the fire, as if it were palpitating viscera. Horrified, she leaned even closer and heard a sort of groan, a soft gurgling, like a repressed sob.

“What’s that?” they heard Vlad behind them, adjusting his glasses. “God! That thing is alive!”

After a couple of crackles, the paper burst into flames and a sickening smell of burning flesh filled the room. Lara held a spasm. With a stumble, Ivanoff ran to open the window.

Marcus, livid, drew a curious symbol in the air, and muttered a phrase in Latin. Then he translated: “May the Light free us from Evil, to each and every one of us.”

“What was that, Marcus?” Lara muttered dizzy, and dropped into a chair.

“It wasn’t a _paper_ , Lara, and whoever put it there didn't wish any good to us.” The Healer shuddered and marked the symbol again, as if crossing himself. “We must tell Kurtis about this. We all are in danger, and he more than any other.”

 

* * *

 

Maddalena slipped her fingers under the heavy lid and pulled it. A snap confirmed she'd broken a fingernail, but paid no attention. What the hell did a nail matter? She took another pull and flipped the lid, leaving the well-head exposed.

It was late afternoon and the castle was closed to visitors. The Italian redhead sick of shadows because of all her wandering about like a lost soul, had begun to delve into the well. Bending, she was surprised to find no water, only blackness together with a blast of stale air.

“Careful. It's a long fall from there.” Kurtis’ voice suddenly rang a few feet away.

Maddalena pulled up her head and smiled bitterly. “Who cares if I fall?”

“Well.” He replied, shrugging. He was leaning on a column in the courtyard. “Doesn’t make much sense. I've been down there, and there are only stinking passages and a torture chamber. This was owned by Vlad Tepes.”

The Italian woman sighed and nibbled at her broken nail.

“You look different.” He said then.

“You mean I no longer behave like a whore.” She said, and before he could answer, she continued. “No, truth be told, I'm tired of it. I've been sick of that for a while now, but I neither wanted to admit it, nor had the guts to change. I'd give anything to go back and start again.” _I'm_ _sure_ _I_ _'d_ _be_ _something_ _different_ _for_ _you then_ , she thought quietly, still looking at him.

Kurtis then said: “You risked too much by going to the Island. Why?”

“You ask me that?” She smiled, and thinking _what_ _the_ _hell_ , she added. “It was for you. I robbed Monteleone because I believed those documents were valuable and someone could pay for them. Bathsheba... well, I thought she'd be interested and...”

“Too bad you did that. I can't give you what you want from me, Giulia.”

She put her suddenly trembling hands on the pit edge and looked at them. “Why do you have to be so wonderful?” She murmured in a broken voice. “Rejecting me that way only makes me love you even more.”

Then she heard him laugh softly, but she didn’t look up. Nevermind, she'd lost the little dignity she had left.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not wonderful at all. I’m a despicable being. What you love is just the shadow of an illusion.”

“Is that what you said to Lara?”

He didn’t answer. Slowly, Maddalena looked up and saw him frowning. Somehow, her comment had upset him.

“I can’t believe you.” She was quick to answer. “Sciarra was a despicable being. Monteleone was a despicable being. All those minions, all that mob who torture and kill on the Island are despicable beings. I see nothing of that in you.”

“Nor anything _wonderful_ either. You don’t know me, Giulia. You’re suffering in vain.”

“But I love you.” She murmured, blushing. “I'd rather suffer like this than be again the hateful person I was before.” Suddenly, the Italian woman left the well and went towards him and he didn’t move. Having her so close, her face without makeup, her pink lips, her amber eyes, the rain of golden freckles covering her nose and that wonderful red hair which haloed her face. “It's because I'm a whore?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“So this is because of _her_. You loved her from the beginning, right? What does she have that I haven’t?”

“I won’t talk about Lara with you, Giulia. It would only make you feel worse. You're torturing yourself for nothing. You deserve better than me.”

“But I love you...”

Kurtis stopped the hand that was about to stroke his face and pushed her away with a sigh. She'd rather have him shoving and hitting her.

“You always reject women like this?”

“Wrong about me again. I'm not a heartbreaker - and I don’t have a legion of women after me either...”

“Kurtis!”

They turned, startled. Marcus was in the doorway of the courtyard - at his side was Lara, who frowned when she saw Maddalena.

“We need to talk to you. It's urgent.”

 

* * *

 

For some reason, Marcus preferred Lara to speak. She chose not to mention Marcus’ report and merely told him about that piece of paper conveying his thoughts in that short time he'd been dying before Minos and the other monks found him.

Kurtis listened to her with a frown and shook his head. Exasperated by his astonishing serenity, Marcus jumped out. “You know what this means, right? An evil spirit had access to your mind and has been using your memories. You know the risk you run, we all run now because of you?”

“Guess I've been pretty vulnerable lately.” Kurtis said calmly. “They’re always lurking. I'd be surprised they haven’t take advantage of this golden opportunity.”

“But what that note said was true?” Lara jumped.

Kurtis looked at her tenderly. “Guess something like that haunted my mind as I almost bled to death.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But who cares anymore.”

“What kind of demon would pretend?” Lara turned towards Marcus. “Is it Bathsheba?”

“Don’t imagine her using that.” The old man replied. “I know her as I knew her father. They both loved being my jailers. She’s too delicate, too subtle, to resort to such... filthy resources. There has been another entity which has shown off through the paper.”

“Lilith?”

Marcus paled when hearing that name. “Don’t mention that impure... freak! She's asleep, unlikely to wake up and we want to her remain so. I'm afraid...”

“I know what it could be.” A sudden voice said. All three turned. With the nails sunk in the doorway, Marie looked at them anxiously. She walked up to them, and her haggard look disturbed Lara. The Navajo woman was bewildered. “It’s the Voice in the Dark.”

 

* * *

 

Maddalena was left alone in the yard, clinging to the column where Kurtis had been leaning. Her soft breasts, her tender belly, pressed against the stone, looking for his body heat in it. The porous rock stroked her cheek.

At first, she heard the soft hum. Then she thought it was some gust of wind blowing in through a narrow place. Only when the wind stopped blowing in the yard, she realized what she was hearing was a whining voice.

The Italian woman separated her face from the column and looked around, stunned. She felt her hair bristling when noticing the groan came out of the well.

The black aperture was broadcasting, by a resounding echo, what sounded like a girl crying, a strange sob choking with sighs. Maddalena's legs failed, she crossed herself at full speed, and found her touching this strange Indian charm she'd found in a truck in Turkey, hidden between her breasts, with the feathers brushing her skin - although perhaps that pagan symbol wouldn’t protect her... _Don_ _’_ _t_ _be_ _a brat_ , she scolded herself, ashamed of her cowardice, and forced herself to walk towards the well, although her legs were shaking.

The crying grew louder when she looked into the dark abyss, but saw only blackness. “Is... anyone there?” She stammered.

The groans faded sharply, and when she was going to withdraw, she heard a soft whisper in the background. “Excuse me?” She muttered, shaking like a leaf. “I c-can’t... can’t hear you! Need help?”

The whisper grew louder, and she began to get fragments of words.

 _..._ _two_ _..._ _..._ _blood_ _shed_ _..._ _Mother_ _...._

Maddalena gasped and covered her mouth. _Santa Lucia_ _,_ _protect_ _me!_

 _..._ _seven_ _..._ _bitt_ _..._ _ath_

The whisper was rising in volume. The redhead couldn’t withdraw from the pit's edge, she stood still as if petrified.

 _Warrio...._ _zonian_ _..._ _pure_ _..._ _Wis_ _...._ _cent_ _..._ _Angel_ _..._ _hide_ _..._

“Angel?” She said. “You say you're an angel?”

 _Voice_ _..._ _Darkness_ _..._

Maddalena tried to pull away, but it was as if her legs wouldn't obey her, as if she'd her arms glued to the rim of the pit.

 _..._ _redempt_ _..._ _Goddess_ _..._ _ineffab..._ _light_ _..._ _deadly_ _..._

Then her eyes widened in horror – she'd seen the form of a creature rising clinging to the walls of the pit, its head bobbing on the neck and empty eyes staring at her, with a haggard smile.

Maddalena wanted to scream, to run away - but she couldn’t. She stood joined to the well until the thing came to her and sank its fingers in her chest.

 

* * *

 

A piercing scream tore the air. Almost in unison, Lara and Kurtis jumped to the door, pushing aside Marie, and came running into the corridor of the yard. In a column on the top floor, Radha, clinging to a pillar, was looking onto the courtyard with wide eyes and her mouth distorted, while with a trembling finger pointed down. Lara looked at the edge of the window and what she saw made her gasp.

Maddalena was lying on the floor, face up, legs open and hair scattered on the floor slabs. With a convulsive hand, she tore off the front of the dress as she bowed her back, letting out blood curdling screams. Between her breasts there was a bloody mark, like the imprint of a hand. Lara soon found out that was a kind of burn, and the blood bubbled and gurgled as the screams that came from the prostitute's mouth tore her ears. With visceral momentum, she scraped her chest and breasts, tearing the flesh, as if trying to pull that mark away from her skin. Her eyes went blank and her mouth was foaming.

“Come here, honey.” Lara heard Marie muttering, surrounding Radha with her arms and taking her gently away from there. “Don’t look at that. Come with me.”

Who couldn’t be impressed by _that?_ Lara was petrified with horror.

The fight didn’t last long. Maddalena gradually quit struggling and remained rigid, stretched on the floor with her breasts shaking and the mark foaming on her skin. Suddenly, she turned her eyes and stared at Lara, who recoiled instinctively.

The redhead woman got up into a sitting position, and then, displaying a smile out of joint, she pointed towards her with her index finger. “You!” She gurgled with a voice that was _not_ hers. “You'll also fall, you prideful! Within three days, remember, within three days, I'll give you your well-deserved!”

Kurtis grabbed Lara away from Maddalena's sight. “ _Don_ _’_ _t_ look at her!” He whispered in her ear. “ _Don_ _’_ _t_ look at her eyes, _don_ _’_ _t_ listen what she says!”

As in a vision, Lara saw how Marcus hurried off and placed around Maddalena, as one who gropes a wild beast. But she did nothing more - she rested on the floor again and began to chant, with her ghastly smile, in a language she didn’t know, she never would've heard from any human being on Earth.

 

* * *

 

“You mean she’s possessed?” Selma whispered, horrified.

“Seems so.” Lara replied. “Kurtis and Marcus have locked her in a bedroom. She hasn’t tried to attack them, but she wanders from side to side singing a litany in Nephilim language, and laughs alone. She also threatened me and told me in three days she'd give me a lesson.”

The Turkish girl shuddered.

At that moment they heard voices in the hallway. Lara hurried to look out. The two Lux Veritatis were arguing.

“I won’t do that!” Kurtis said. “That's what that thing wants! There must be another way to get _that_ out of her.”

“It’s up to you to tell me what to do, boy?” Marcus jumped, offended. “As far as I know, casting out demons is a Healer’s job!”

“We're in the XXI century, in case you don't remember. We no longer burn people with hot irons or try to suffocate them! You’re hurting the body, not the demon within!”

“With your moral objections, son, Meteora's poor _hegumenos_ has been struggling in vain and he’s reaching his death! I won’t let the same thing happen to this poor girl!”

Hawking, Lara moved ahead. “Have you tried to speak with her?”

Marcus lowered his head, and Kurtis sighed and ran his hand across his forehead - he'd dark circles under his eyes again. The last two nights he'd been sleepless beside Lara.

“She just wants to talk to you. She won’t talk to anyone else, child.” Marcus then said.

“Me?” Lara muttered.

“I _w_ _on_ _’_ _t_ let her see Lara.” Kurtis started again. “Don’t you see? She's threatened her. I won’t let that thing to hurt her.”

“Son, we can’t lock her up ‘til Judgement Day!”

“Fine, let’s burn her at the stake like you want!”

“I don’t want...!”

 _“_ _Enough!”_

Lara's scream echoed through the walls. In the next room, a startled Zip took off his headphones and looked out.

Lara breathed deeply and put her hands to her temples. Again she had nausea.

“You're not well.” Kurtis then said, staring at her. “You're sick.”

 _Sort of_ , thought Lara, and smiled. “I’ll talk to her.”

“No.”

“She’s already cursed me, right? Let's see what she wants. Otherwise, she’ll catch me off guard.”

Marcus nodded in approval, astonished at her resolution. Kurtis' face, however, gave her quite a different impression.

 

* * *

 

“Here.” Schäffer put the report sheet on the table. “They are in Romania, in Brasov, and currently living in the castle called Bran.”

Giselle nodded. “From what I could find out from Rouzic before he died, this is where Vladimir Ivanoff used to live, serving them as an investigator.”

The doctor got up and walked to the window. They were in two adjoining rooms at that Athens hotel, a city chosen to carry out the first feelers in search of their targets. Schäffer was good at his job and they were soon located. “Tomorrow we'll go there.” She concluded, touching the cold glass with her fingertips. “You sent your men there?”

“As you ordered, Giselle.”

“I've been thinking. It’s better not to intervene unless necessary. I want something clean. We'll deal with them, you and me personally.”

Schäffer smiled. He liked the way she thought. At the end of the day, the only flaw of Gunderson, besides his own arrogance, had been attracting too much attention with his men. The current boss preferred discretion. “As you wish.” He added.

Giselle nodded and looked out the window. She noticed he approached her from behind and next thing she felt was his breath on her ear. He took a lock of blond hair and watched it, fascinated.

“Leave me alone.” She whispered, laconic.

“There are lots of women who have their hair dyed to get this blond.” The German noted. Then his lips stroked her ear and hissed. “When was the last time you slept with a man?”

Giselle turned quickly and slapped him. He, far from being offended, laughed and grabbed her by the wrists. “You’re a kitten. Let me do you a wonderful favour.”

“Let me go!” She whispered with the same apathy.

Ignoring her, he gently pulled and pushed her towards the couch. He forced her to lie, still smiling sarcastically.

“I’ll scream.” She warned, still without resistance.

“You offend me, sweetie.” He mocked. “If I disappoint you, you can slap me again. But I doubt it. I'm pretty good at this.”

The scientists turned her face from him. Some strands of hair covered her face. She let him unbutton her blouse and take down her stockings. She'd no interest in refusing – but she neither cared at all. She was dead inside.

“I'd never rape you.” Schäffer whispered in her ear as he leaned over her. “This happens because you consent.”

“I don’t love you.”

“Ah, but you’ll love me. Right now I really don’t care, I’m content with having you.”

Giselle let him to make love to her with passivity, and truth be told, the experience wasn’t unpleasant in any way - and though Schäffer noticed she seemed to dream it was another who was with her, and he knew _which_ _one_ it was, he didn’t care. When he finished, he left her with a mocking reverence.

The doctor, half naked, spent hours staring at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

It was funny, but the version of Maddalena who was sitting at the stool next to the window was more like the brazen prostitute she'd been before. Seeing Lara, the redhead smiled and leaned blatantly against the wall. Her open neckline showed her cleavage and that hand-print like a bloody rash.

“Lara, Lara Croft.” She sang with a voice that was not hers. “Amazon and slayer of immortals.” Then looked at Kurtis, next to Lara. “Leave us alone.”

“No.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Whatever... you can’t protect her from me.”

“Who are you?” Lara began, sitting opposite her.

“I am the Voice In The Dark.”

“Why have you seized Maddalena?”

The alluded playfully leaned on the sill of the window and began to roll a silky red lock around her index finger. “She’s perfect for me: a beautiful young body and she’s full of love and hate. Love and hate move the world, so she's perfect for me.”

“Leave her alone.”

She arched her slim eyebrows and looked at Kurtis. “Why? She's just a whore... and the man she loves has rejected her, haven’t you, Warrior? She doesn’t suffer. She’s not hurt. She’s happier like this, rather than being victim of an ungrateful one’s contempt.”

“Why do you call yourself the Voice In The Dark?” Lara cut ignoring the previous comment.

“I’m Lilith's messenger. I’m Her voice, Her mouth. I convey Her message and I've come to announce your end.”

“Are you a woman?”

“Those who dwell with the Mother have no sex. I am the Voice.” Then she closed her eyes and recited: “ _Although two will shed their blood at the foot of the Great Mother, it will be seven going through the Bitter Path: the Warrior and the Amazon, the Impure and the Innocent, the Wise and the Angel, and also the Hidden One. This has told the Voice in the Darkness: among the two who shed their blood, only one could be redeemed, and will be redeemed by the will of the Goddess. But woe to them if they don’t satisfy the Ineffable: none of them will again see the light of mortals.”_

“That's what Selma told us. She heard it from the spirit inside Meteora's _hegumenos_.”

“Then you know you've been chosen to go in second place, right?” The possessed woman mocked her, and looked again at Kurtis. “He’s the first, hence he can’t do anything to save you.” She moved forward a bit to look more closely at Lara. Her hair slipped over her shoulders and hid her face partly. “You have the Angel of Death upon you. The sooner you go to face the Mother, the sooner this will end.”

“Is that the only way to stop her?”

Maddalena - or the being within her threw her head back and laughed. “Ignorant! How will you be able to stop the Great Mother, who can crush you with just Her presence?”

Lara stood on the seat. “We won’t enter into a game we don’t know the rules or the reasons.”

“You will whether you like it or not. Otherwise, you will pay the highest price. And you, woman, will be the first of them.”

Then Kurtis took Lara’s arm and made her rise. “Enough. You'll get nothing from her. She may confuse you for hours.”

Maddalena went up sharply. Kurtis instinctively stepped between her and Lara and held her: “It’s Lilith Herself who speaks to you! Keep making fun of Her! You will regret it!”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lara said quietly.

The redhead struggled in Kurtis' arms, who firmly forced her to retreat. “I warned you. The Vortex claims you, the first of all of them. Pray it finds you before the Angel of Death does!”

“If you're done,” Lara said, undaunted, “leave Maddalena alone.”

“Why?” She smiled sarcastically. “Then who would guide you?” She looked sensually at Kurtis and said. “I've been waiting for this moment for centuries. Now we can say this really gets interesting.” As she'd stopped struggling, Kurtis let her go. She smiled, winked and leaned back shamelessly in the chair, humming to herself.

“I’ll make you leave.” The Lux Veritatis said then.

“You can do nothing against me. I’m the Mother’s lieutenant. The beings you've been fighting since you learned to kill are like babies to me. And whatever you do to me,” she whispered, “all the damage will fall on Giulia Manfredi. You’ll hurt her body and leave me untouched. Although, of course”, she added, leaning back, “if you want to fuck me, I won’t refuse. I'm curious about what you mortals feel, and something tells me Giulia would be more than pleased.”

The British explorer had heard enough - she left the room and went downstairs.

“Lara!”

She didn’t turn.

“Don’t get mad...”

“No need for that.” She answered, wincing. “What that thing may say can’t bother me. Although I was _delighted_ to discover that harlot had been courting you...”

“That's the least of our problems now, Lara.”

She turned and looked at him, this time from the lower end of the ladder. “I know. Need to talk to Zip and Vlad. It's time to face our problems. You remember that thanks to Cardinal Monteleone’s texts we found the location of the Vortex’s entry was in...”

“... Syria.” Kurtis finished, going towards her. “And knowing you, you want to go there soon.”

“Now that you've recovered, of course.”

He shook his head. “Not the way to do it, Lara.”

“We can’t sit waiting for who knows what to happen!”

Kurtis smiled, walked up to her and gently took her by the shoulders. “So far, everything I’ve done, I've done it your way. It's time we do it my way. I'm sorry you're stuck in this mess, but since you are, you must know your rules and ways are no good for this. It’s... a different world.”

“Fair enough. What do you suggest?”

 

* * *

 

 _No,_ _no_ _please._ _Let_ _me_ _go..._

 _You_ _have_ _to._ _It_ _’_ _s_ _necessary._ _She_ _must_ _know,_ _she_ _must_ _be_ _forced._

 _Tell_ _your_ _followers_ _to_ _force_ _her._ _I'm_ _tired._

 _Giulia,_ _Giulia,_ _beautiful_ _Giulia..._ _you_ _’_ _re_ _my_ _miracle,_ _my_ _executor_ _hand._

 _I_ _won_ _’_ _t_ _do_ _such a_ _thing._

 _But_ _you_ _hate_ _her._ _You_ _really_ _hate_ _her._ _You_ _heard_ _her_ _moaning_ _at_ _night,_ _when_ _he_ _makes_ _love_ _to_ _her._ _You_ _have_ _desired_ _to_ _kill_ _her_ _a_ _thousand_ _and_ _one_ _times._

 _Not_ _like_ _this._ _Not_ _that_ _way._ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t..._ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t._

 _If_ _you_ _do,_ _I'll_ _promise_ _he_ _will_ _be_ _yours,_ _in_ _body_ _and_ _soul,_ _once_ _she_ _’_ _s_ _gone._

 _You_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _understand_ _..._ _he’ll_ _never_ _love_ _me_ _if_ _I_ _kill_ _her_ _._

 _Oh,_ _well_ _then_ _you_ _must_ _say_ _I_ _forced_ _you_ _to._ _Because_ _I_ _force_ _you_ _to._ _You_ _have_ _no_ _choice._

 _No,_ _please..._ _not_ _like_ _this..._

 _It's_ _time_ _to_ _stop_ _being_ _the_ _victim,_ _my_ _beautiful_ _Giulia._ _Now_ _it_ _’_ _s_ _time_ _the_ _others_ _pay_ _for_ _what_ _they_ _have_ _done_ _to_ _you._ _I_ _’_ _ll_ _raise_ _the_ _dead_ _from_ _their_ _graves_ _and_ _make_ _them_ _bow_ _at_ _your_ _feet._ _I'll_ _have_ _Giacomo_ _Sciarra_ _crawling_ _before_ _you._ _I_ _’_ _ll_ _make_ _Daniele_ _Monteleone_ _kiss_ _your_ _feet._ _You_ _'l_ _l_ _see_ _the_ _Lux_ _Veritatis_ _on_ _his_ _knees,_ _begging_ _you_ _desperately_ _to_ _love_ _him._

 _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _want_ _..._ _no..._

_..........._

_Please..._

_..............._

_Not_ _like_ _this..._

_.........._

_Somebody_ _help_ _me..._ _oh_ _Dio mio_ _,_ _somebody_ _help_ _me..._


	36. The Angel of Death

It was midnight. Giselle slept naked in her bed after having been visited again by her faithful minion. Unlike last time, he hadn’t been blatant and insistent, but waited patiently until she allowed him into bed. She had nothing to lose, but also reminded him she was still his mistress and those permissions and intimacies didn’t change anything about their previous relationship.

Schäffer, of course, had no objection, and even seemed to enjoy his strange position as sexual servant; which, after all, he’d incited. When he left, she fell asleep for about two hours until she woke up, beset by the feeling that someone was in her room. When she reached over and turned on the light, she found herself in front of her daughter.

Bathsheba was sitting in a chair beside the bed, very upright among Giselle’s clothes, hanging on the chair and scattered on the carpet. Her hands rested together on her knees and she was wearing her white cloak, with her hair spread on the fallen hood.

“You scared me.” Giselle said, covering herself with a blanket.

_“_ _What_ are you doing?” Bathsheba murmured with an indolent tone, arching her slim eyebrows in an expression that was otherwise expressionless.

“What do you mean?” The doctor rubbed her eyes sleepily.

The Nephilim sighed, as if urged to take all the patience in the world, and then said softly: “You left your research on the Island, to go jogging with that primitive disgusting beast from hotel to hotel, while hatching a kind of multiple murder. What do you think you're doing?” She seemed slightly, only _slightly_ irritated.

Giselle dropped the blanket over her lap and touched the bed headboard in search of a pack of cigarettes. She took her time to pick one up, light it, give it a couple of puffs and rest back again on the headboard, while Bathsheba stared at her.

“I’m flattered.” The scientist said looking at the line of smoke. “My daughter finally cares about me.”

“I'm not in the mood, _Mother_.” Bathsheba hissed, stressing the last word to make it sound cold and unnatural.

“Well, learn from your father.” Giselle replied. “He'd patience to the end and he'd lived since the dawn of time - and don’t _ever_ speak to me in that tone again. Nephilim or not, you're here because I bred you.” She took another puff of smoke, feeling pleased with herself, while Bathsheba waited in silence. “I thought,” the doctor said finally, “you didn’t care about my experiments. And behold, I've just left them, and then you come here, so upset to see what happened to me. I should've done this before.”

“Don’t fool yourself.” The beauty corrected. “I’m concerned because you're mad. What you’re doing is absurd - and doesn’t suit my purposes.”

Giselle stood as if she'd been stuck, showing her small and pinkish breasts. “ _Your_ _purposes!”_ She spat. “I'm sick of your purposes! Ungrateful ignorant! Who gave you life, who raised you? But you turn your back on me as if you're ashamed of me. You initiated yourself into the cult of that hellish goddess and forgot everything you owe to me!” With a sudden movement, she crushed the cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table.

Bathsheba was staring at her coldly. “You’re mad.” She repeated quietly. “You only can think of your mindless revenge. The death of all of them will change _nothing_.”

“Enough.” Giselle sighed, distraught. “You mean you're going to keep me from killing those bastards? Those who murdered your father, those who collaborated with them? Whose side are you on, Bathsheba?”

“On my own.”

Giselle sighed, and reached out to caress her daughter's arm. “That's what you can’t understand, my beautiful Bathsheba. Your side is also mine. I've always been with you. Why have you gone away from me?”

The Nephilim tilted her head gently. “Lilith, the mother of all _Nephili_ , has revealed Herself to me. I know you don’t believe in Her, but I assure you She gave birth to my father and he saw Her as I now see Her myself, as you're now looking at me, as Gertrude, Her priestess, saw Her. She told me that if I offer in sacrifice the Lux Veritatis and his lover at the Vortex's altar, She will destroy the Periapt Shards, so nothing can hurt me, and so I'll be immortal and invincible as Karel was never able to be.”

Giselle looked at her, stunned. “So that’s why you let them escape from the Island?”

Bathsheba simply nodded.

“So this Lilith can... break that crystal?”

“She created it, She can destroy it.”

The doctor leaned back. “Now I understand many things. You should have told me before.”

“It wasn't the will of the Great Goddess. Now you know. Refrain from touching a hair of those three, because they belong to me.”

“Three? Who's the third?”

“The Amazon's pregnant. What better gift to the Queen of the Vortex than sacrifice the strongest Lux Veritatis that ever existed together with his unborn son?”

Suddenly, Giselle laughed. She buried her face in the pillow and went on laughing with delight. “Ask that goddess to let me see it.”

“You're mad.” Bathsheba once more and rose from the chair. “It’s not payback. I do this because She ordered me to. Otherwise, I'd let you to slay the Lux Veritatis the way you wanted at the Island, and I would've spared the Amazon and her child, as long as she meant no threat to me.”

Seeing that Bathsheba intended to leave, Giselle got up and took her daughter's arm. “Don’t leave, Bathsheba. We were so close before. But since you went to Meteora, you’re different. Stay with me.”

“I can’t, I won’t.”

“You just asked what I was doing. Well, my daughter, _what_ _the_ _hell_ _are_ _you_ _doing?”_

“I don’t have to answer your questions, but since I still appreciate you, I will.” Bathsheba chimed. “I’m under orders of the Mother, and I'm so busy.”

“What commands you to obey that dark Lilith? What’s more important than our projects? Why didn’t you get stop those and…?”

“I’ll do as She provides. I can’t tell you anything else. Goodbye, Mother.”

“Bathsheba!” The doctor held out her arms, but her fingers grasped only air. She stood motionless for a moment, and then dropped her arms.

“Mother...”

There had been no cold sarcasm in her last word. That, somehow, encouraged her. Bathsheba hadn’t left her cause completely. As soon as she forgot her obsession with that bloody Lilith... well. Her visit had been a warning. The scientist must hurt neither Lara nor Kurtis.

But... had she said something about the others?

 

* * *

 

Zip leaned back in his chair and loudly blew a huge bubble with his bubble gum.

Lara glared at him. “When Zip stops clowning, we’ll begin.”

Selma elbowed her partner, and he repositioned in the chair.

“Well,” Lara continued, casting her eyes by all those present, “Kurtis and I've been discussing what to do, and have come to some conclusion but, of course, I'd like to know your opinion about it, since you're also somewhat affected.”

At that point, Kurtis took the word. “Giulia's beyond help for the moment, but out of danger. The spirit who took her, unlike Meteora's _hegumenos_ , is not harming her. Since we can’t force it to leave her right now...”

“Yes, we can.” Marcus growled softly.

“... and I _don_ _’_ _t_ approve of Marcus' ideas to do it,” Kurtis was now looking askance at the old man, “for it would only harm her, we'll have to go our own way before the picture gets worse, and it can get much worse. Although in the beginning I disagreed with Lara, it seems there’s no choice. We’ll soon go to Syria."

Ivanoff winced and Selma gasped.

“To Syria!” It was Marie who spoke. “You mean _to_ _the_ _Vortex!”_

“Indeed.” Lara granted.

There was a snort of contempt, and Marcus shook his head. “Dear friends, you're insane. It’s not you who goes to the Vortex; it is the Vortex which comes to you. Do you really expect to go to Syria and find a hole in a lost place which leads you to an underground world with flowing lava and horned devils?”

“Of course not.” Lara stressed. “This is not entirely clear to me, but it looks like the Vortex is a mindset, a parallel world, another dimension not present on Earth, but easier to reach from around Syria rather than elsewhere.”

“No one has ever been so foolish as to try to go there. You won’t make it.” Marie turned her gaze to her son. “Kurtis, please! Do you care so _little_ about her? You know you both are going to die!”

“We have no choice.” He replied calmly. “Terrible things are coming. I feel it. I'm not even able to discern what they are. We must act. Better than sitting and waiting for the catastrophe.”

The Navajo woman stood up, furious, from her seat. “What are you going to do there? Go to the very nose of Satan and ask him to leave you alone? Try to negotiate with His Spouse? Assuming you attain crossing the threshold!

A mild cough interrupted her. Ivanoff was adjusting his glasses. “Well, Marie, let's be objective. There's a prophecy...”

“Demons lie or tell the truth as it suits them.” Marie cut off, and addressed Kurtis again. “ _You_ know this better than anyone else here!”

The Fighter refused to get nervous. “The Voice In The Darkness is not a common demon. Doesn’t act like a low status devil. It’s Lilith’s right hand. She wouldn’t have it come here to deliver bullshit.”

“As I said,” Ivanoff continued, clearing his throat again, “there’s a prophecy in which apparently we're all included. A Wise, an Angel, a Warrior and an Amazon, a Hidden One, an Innocent and an Impure...” He felt his pocket and pulled out a crumpled paper. “As you know, I've been recently talking to some of you, except for Lara and Kurtis, obviously, since they can’t be any other than the Amazon and the Warrior, respectively - and I've come to some conclusions.”

“Vlad,” Selma chimed softly, “those are just theories. They may not refer exclusively to people around us.”

“Of course, my dear.” He said patting her hand with affection. “But I'm sick of being useless. Let me show off a little.” He coughed again, adjusted his glasses on the bridge of the nose and repositioned himself in the chair. Everyone watched him in silence, and Lara even smiled with fun. “Consider the prophecy. _Although_ _two_ _will_ _go_ _to_ _shed_ _their_ _blood_ _at_ _the_ _foot_ _of_ _the_ _Great_ _Mother_ , this part is pretty nasty - two people will die by the hand of Lilith, as the Great Mother’s attribute is fitting to many old goddesses and this is no exception _,_ _it_ _will_ _be_ _seven_ _transiting_ _the_ _Bitter_ _Path,_ right? Seven people are going to go through this, and Bitter Path is the nickname of a very harsh experience, probably in the Vortex... _the_ _Warrior_ _and_ _the_ _Amazon_ , well, one must be an idiot if not figuring this out. Long before this prophecy these titles were given to our two colleagues here. There’s no other Amazon on the face of the Earth today, and her Warrior partner can’t be other than you, my Lux Veritatis friend. _The_ _Impure_ _and_ _the_ _Innocent_... here I came across the first wall of bricks - but I think the Impure could be our friend Giulia, given her previous activities...”

“That's bullshit.” Kurtis cut off. “Being a prostitute means nothing to those freaks; they stain their hands with blood daily – and she’s now the vessel of the prophetic spirit.”

Ivanoff shrugged. “I just theorize, my friend. Well, moving on. _The_ _Wise_ , then, sorry if I’m being cocky, but there are at least four chances. First, brother Marcus, last Healer and guardian of a great legacy which Kurtis wouldn’t accept; Marie, who's a descendant of a matriarchal kind of great wisdom and knows everything about plants, cures and primary care; Selma, who's an expert in Semitic mythology and culture, and lastly this humble servant, who's a professor. So the issue of the Wise is quite complex.” He cleared his throat again and continued. “ _The_ _Angel_. I've my reasons for asserting this refers to Lady Bathsheba.”

Lara laughed. “Bathsheba going through a Bitter Path? That hag will feel at home in the Vortex.”

“As you want, my dear. _The_ _Innocent_ is Radha, no doubt.”

The Indian teenager, who was near the window, raised her face to hear her name and looked stunned at the group of people discussing in a language she didn’t understand.

Lara felt suddenly shocked. “Radha! That can't be, Vlad. How could she be involved in this? She’s just a girl!

“And _the_ _Hidden One_.” Vlad continued. “Here I've to accept my defeat. I've not the foggiest idea. _This_ _has_ _told_ _the_ _Voice_ _in_ _the_ _Darkness:_ _among_ _the_ _two_ _who_ _shed_ _their_ _blood,_ _only_ _one_ _could_ _be_ _redeemed,_ _and_ _he_ _’_ _ll_ _redeemed_ _by_ _the_ _will_ _of_ _the_ _Goddess._ _But_ _woe_ _to_ _them_ _if_ _they_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _satisfy_ _the_ _Ineffable:_ _none_ _of_ _them_ _will_ _again_ _see_ _the_ _light_ _of_ _mortals_. Indeed, among the two who will die, one can be saved if it pleases to Lilith. But how to please the Ineffable? Another great mystery.” He folded the paper again and removed his glasses. “As you see, I've not made great progress. I doubt everything except that concerning Lara and Kurtis. Too many chances for the Wise, and you're not agreeing about the others. But I insist it’s convenient to go to Syria, not just you two, but all of us.”

Marcus and Marie declined in unison.

“It's madness.” The elder said. “Excuse me, but you don’t know even what you’re talking about. It’s a collective suicide. I don’t approve of such a thing.”

Lara went around the table – on it there was a full glass of water. She put her lips on it and sipped. “Marcus,” she said, placing the glass on the table, “we need to do something. Otherwise, the situation will get out of hand.”

“Don’t know what Bathsheba may be up to,” Kurtis added, “or what the Cabal might be trying now, much less what to expect from...”

Suddenly, Lara felt bad - she stopped paying attention her partner’s words and put her hands to her temples, which suddenly ached as if they were being crushed with iron tongs. She felt a bitter taste in her mouth. She glanced at the glass and then she understood. A scream of rage parted from her lips.

“Lara!” Selma cried. “What happening?”

All went silent and looked at her. Kurtis grabbed her arm so hard she thought he was going to tear it - she didn’t realize she was falling to the floor and he was trying to hold her. Lara gripped the table and took three steps towards the door.

A cry of horror pierced the air. It was Radha - only she could scream so acute. Then Lara looked down and saw a dark stain spreading on her pants, down her legs, like a sea of warm fluid flowing from her.

Marie stood by her side, trying to hold her too, but she flung off her arms, threw herself against the door and opened it, stumbling towards the centre of the courtyard.

Maddalena was on top of the stairs, watching her with a cold smile.

Lara fell on the flagstone while the blood spread under her. She barely heard someone - was it Selma? groaning in horror. “That's...she's _pregnant!”_

_I_ _told_ _you_ , Maddalena's coralline lips whispered - but it was the Voice who spoke for her.

Lara passed out.

 

* * *

 

_Bathsheba_ _looked_ _at_ _her_ _from_ _above._ _Lara_ _had_ _never_ _realized_ _before_ _how_ _tall_ _she_ _was._

_“Freak!_ _Get_ _the hell outta_ _here!”_ _The British explorer_ _felt_ _another_ _spasm_ _and_ _screamed._ _She_ _was_ _lying_ _in_ _a_ _pool_ _of_ _blood. “Go_ _away!_ _Damn_ _you,_ _this_ _is_ _your_ _doing_ _!”_

_“Don_ _’_ _t_ _look_ _at_ _me._ _I_ _didn't_ _poison_ _you._ _I_ _haven_ _’_ _t_ _caused_ _this_ _miscarriage_ _.”_

_“Get outta_ _here._ _Leave_ _me_ _alone._ _Are_ _you_ _happy_ _now,_ _hag_ _?”_

_“I_ _have_ _come_ _to_ _offer_ _you_ _an_ _exchange,_ _Lara,_ _but_ _you_ _must_ _hurry._ _I_ _can_ _save_ _this life - b_ _ut_ _you_ _must_ _give_ _me_ _something_ _in_ _return.”_

_“Get_ _out._ _I_ _loathe_ _you._ _Get_ _out.”_

_“Tell_ _me_ _where_ _the_ _Three_ _Shards_ _are_ _hidden.”_

_“You_ _know,_ _damn_ _you._ _You_ _know_ _everything_ _when_ _you_ _want._ _Sod off,_ _get_ _them_ _and_ _cut_ _your_ _throat_ _with_ _them.”_

_“Your_ _lover_ _has_ _been_ _very_ _clever_ _._ _Not_ _only_ _has he_ _surrounded_ _his_ _mind_ _with_ _a_ _barrier_ _I_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _penetrate,_ _but_ _yours_ _too._ _And_ _both_ _he_ _and_ _you_ _are_ _the_ _only_ _ones_ _who_ _know_ _where_ _they_ _are.”_

_Another_ _contraction - and_ _the_ _horrible_ _feeling_ _of_ _that unstoppable_ _bleeding,_ _of_ _losing_ _,_ _of letting_ _die,_ _that_ _life_ _inside her_ _..._

_“Your_ _child is dying_ _,_ _Lara._ _So_ _little_ _you_ _care?_ _Oh,_ _and if_ _his_ _father_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _even_ _know!”_

_“Shut_ _up!”_

_“The_ _Shards,_ _Lara!_ _Now_ _or_ _never!”_

_Lara_ _closed_ _her_ _eyes_ _to_ _not_ _see_ _her,_ _and_ _defeated,_ _confessed_ _where_ _she_ _had_ _hidden_ _them_ _all_ _the_ _time,_ _since_ _Selma_ _and_ _Marie_ _had_ _given_ _her_ _the_ _other_ _two._

_Bathsheba_ _smiled - how_ _beautiful_ _she_ _was._

_“Thank_ _you,_ _Lara Croft._ _I_ _knew_ _you'd_ _be_ _reasonable_ _._ _Now_ _my_ _turn.”_ _The Nephilim_ _leaned_ _over_ _her_ _and_ _put_ _her_ _soft_ _lips_ _on_ _her_ _forehead._ _Lara_ _tried_ _to_ _repel_ _those_ _arms_ _around_ _her,_ _but_ _had_ _no_ _strength_ _to_ _resist._

_Again_ _darkness_ _came..._

 

* * *

 

Maddalena's body, which she no longer controlled, turned and walked back towards the hallway to her bedroom where she'd been locked up and where she'd gotten out. She walked unhurriedly, calmly, her hands crossed on her chest and feeling the soft touch of the white nightgown on her bare ankles, oblivious to the screams and other signs of the drama left behind her, which she’d just caused. Quietly, she closed the door, cutting off Radha’s sharp cries, and sitting at the baroque dressing table, she began to brush sparingly her beautiful hair.

Looking up, she saw Bathsheba's face in the mirror, behind her, but she didn’t turn. She looked at her in the mirror.

“Are you who's called the Voice In The Dark?” The Nephilim inquired sharply.

“I am.” She said while brushing her hair.

Bathsheba's pale cheeks were stained with flushing, as they always did when she was in a rage. “Do you realize what you've done?”

“Of course.” The Voice calmly answered. “I've given a humbling lesson to that stupid smug bitch. I am the Voice of the Great Goddess. No one is laughing at me, let alone a dirty mortal.”

Bathsheba's long fingers drove into the chair's black velvet. “And you consider yourself Lilith's handmaid?” She snapped. “Did you know that both the Amazon and her child should be sacrificed to Her in Her altar and _not_ before in any other way?”

The Voice turned and smiled. “Of course, my Lady. Do you take me for a fool? I knew you’d rush to repair the harm. The important thing is that from now on, this filthy mortal will think twice before underestimating us all. And you can be sure I've the blessing of the Mother, who wanted to test your speed and efficiency.”

“Your game has been too dangerous.” Bathsheba hissed. “I might not have arrived in time.”

“You underestimate yourself, my Lady.” The Voice mocked, turning back to the mirror. “Rather you should thank me for the opportunity to find out where that bitch hid the Shards.”

But Bathsheba said nothing - she looked up, at the door, and whispered before disappearing: “He comes for you.”

The door opened wide with a brutal blow. Who appeared behind it, his face flushed with rage, was Kurtis. Without saying a word, he pounced on her and grabbing her by the hair, threw her against the mirror, which broke when her head hit the glass. Maddalena fell sideways, bounced off the dressing table and went to the floor, her nightgown showing her thighs. Kurtis, out of himself, beat her repeatedly while she made a futile attempt to protect herself with her arms.

_“Idiot!_ _”_ She yelled, trying to shield herself. “Stop this, you moron! Remember, it’s Giulia who...!”

A punch cut off her breath, her face slammed against the floor and clouded her vision, while a burning liquid filled her mouth. She watched, fascinated, how some crimson drops began to spatter the ground.

Another hair pulling forced her to come up and look directly at her attacker. She screamed again, but out of anger and humiliation. The pain was Maddalena’s, not hers.

He'd stopped beating her, but was holding her by the shoulders and shook her so violently she thought her teeth were about to fall out. “Are you having fun?” He shouted in her face, disillusioned. “Are you entertained? _Bitch!_ Didn’t you have enough with me, with destroying my life, my mother, my father, all of us? Fuck you! You had to touch _her!”_

“Lilith.... sent me to punish... that proud bitch... and she has sinned in her pride.” The Voice gurgled as a trickle of blood ran down the corners of her lips. “You may kill Giulia, but you can’t destroy me.”

Another blow forced her back to bite the ground. Crying in rage, the body convulsed and pushed Kurtis back. After a loud yell, Maddalena was free.

The Lux Veritatis sat up, rubbing his head, dazed, and saw the red-haired woman crawling up the wall and covering her face with her hands while sobbing. Her nightgown was torn and splattered with blood.

Kurtis looked down at his hands, furious with himself, and knelt beside her, who was trembling like a lamb and hadn’t even noticed that a wisp of fabric left almost exposed her breast.

What had he done? What had he said? Mad with rage at what had happened to Lara, he'd vented his rage on Maddalena.

Maddalena, who was absolutely innocent. Maddalena, who'd left her protector to look for him. Maddalena, who'd offered herself to take his place in the torture chamber.

“Giulia...” He muttered, embarrassed. “Forgive me. I lost control. I don’t...”

She uncovered her face - her lip was wounded and she had a swollen eye, but what was shining in her eyes was not hate. She threw herself into his arms and hugged him so hard that he lost his breath. _“Kurtis!”_ She sobbed. “She forced me to...sorry...the glass... I didn’t want to! I didn’t know she was pregnant!”

He shuddered. _N_ _either did I,_ _Giulia_. Tears moistened his neck as she wept, pressed against him. On the corner of his eye, he noticed Marcus, solemnly watching the scene, and appeared to be satisfied with the expulsion of evil through violence. _Get_ _outta_ _here_ , he ordered with his eyes, full of remorse. The old man shrugged and walked away.

“Please...!” The redhead was still sobbing. “I beg you... don’t let it enter again... keep it away from me... please!”

The baroque mirror, shattered in pieces, multiplied their embraced figures by thousands.

 

* * *

 

Lara slowly opened her eyes feeling defeated, exhausted.

Sitting at the foot of the bed were Selma and Marie, like two guardian angels watching her rest. Seeing her moving, Selma stood from her chair and gently touched Marie on the shoulder. “How are you?” Said the Navajo woman, rising and approaching her.

“Couldn’t be worse.” The British explorer sighed, covering her face with her hands. “Everything's lost.”

Selma and Marie exchanged an uneasy glance. “Lara,” The Navajo woman said again, “your... the child has survived and it seems he'll make it. I don’t understand how this could be because he'd almost emerged... but the fact is that he's survived.”

Lara didn’t answer. She was staring at the ceiling wood panelling. Selma hesitated: “Lara...you know you were pregnant, right?”

“Of course she knew!” Marie broke out, shaking her long hair. “Only an idiot wouldn’t notice, being almost three months along!” She bent over the recumbent. “On behalf of all that is holy, _why didn't you tell us_ _?”_

Lara neither answered nor took her eyes off the ceiling, but her slight frown showed she was beginning to chafe.

“Let’s leave her alone.” Selma whispered softly. She took Marie’s arm and both left. Marie allowed herself to be carried away but threw a glance of resentment to Lara, which she didn’t see.

“If you need us,” the Turk’s sweet voice whispered again, “we will be over here.”

“She _doesn_ _’_ _t_ need us.” She heard Marie saying, morose. “She _never_ needed us.”

The door closed – and Lara's eyes with it.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, motionless but awake, listening to the whisper of the wind and the silence of the castle, because it was not visiting day.

Then the door opened and closed again. Someone walked up to her bed and sat down beside her. Lara wouldn’t open her eyes, but she rebuked herself and sat up. Kurtis was there.

For her it was as if seeing him for the first time, strange as it seemed. The ambiguous, indescribable expression of his face, the white skin contrasting with his dark hair. His always slightly furrowed brow, giving him an eternal expression of grim seriousness. Those rare blue eyes, so intense, like a sunset that has been completed but it’s not yet black night.

And over all, the feeling of aging in a man who was still young, and knowing that those dark circles under the eyes, those pale lips, his haggard face had nothing to do with age, but with years of pain and suffering, wars, harsh trials, imprisonment and torture, deceit and lies, a life he didn’t want to live, imposed by force.

And his silence. His eternal silence. The stronger was his sorrow, the more intimate was his pain. There was no way now, as there never had been, to know what he was thinking, what laid behind his silence.

“Please, say something.” Lara muttered. “If you're mad at me, yell, shake me, but don’t be like _this_.”

Kurtis sighed and put his hands to his temples, as if gripped by a brutal headache. “It’s you who owe me a few words.”

What had his voice sounded like? Like threat, danger? Was it a tone of anger, someone about to explode? In any case, the damage was done and she couldn’t blame him.

“It's my fault.” Lara said, trying to sound as calm as possible. “I told you everything was under control, but it wasn’t. I didn't lie; I really thought this wouldn’t happen. Apparently, I wasn’t cautious enough.” She paused, trying to spot the smallest reaction from Kurtis, but he remained silent and motionless. “I found out I was pregnant at the hospital.” She continued, less confident. “I'd thought the pains and sickness where due to my wound. When I knew the truth, I didn't tell anyone. A part of me wanted to get rid of this, I admit it…” Her voice broke suddenly. Why couldn’t she stay calm? Where was her confidence, her coldness? “... and perhaps it would've been better.” She concluded, looking back to his eyes. “But I thought that if you were dying... if they kill you, it would be the only part of you that would remain... an extraordinary man whom, however, I haven’t been able to know beyond what your eyes and your silence wanted to tell me, a man for whom I feel something I've never felt for anyone else.” She looked down again. “ _Ergo_ _,”_ she sighed, opening her hands, “I didn’t have the courage to abort. And now I've paid a heavy price for this.” She leaned slightly forward and grabbed Kurtis’ hand - it was as cold as a corpse. “Bathsheba appeared to me as I bled. She said if I showed her where the three Periapt Shards were hidden, she’d save my life, and also...well, both of us.”

Kurtis rose abruptly, his expression of bewilderment and confusion increasing. Lara cursed herself for causing him that distress.

“I tried to protect your mind from her!”

“I wasn't willing to give in.” Lara added. “But... the pain was too much and I admit I didn’t want to lose... now that I've decided to keep him.”

Kurtis brought his hands to his temples again.

“I made a terrible mistake.” Lara concluded. “I’ve revealed to Bathsheba where the Shards are. She'll take them to Lilith and She'll destroy them. Then there will be no way to kill her and we’ll be lost.”

“It's my fault.” He muttered. “I should've guessed... if I...”

Lara shook her head violently. “Enough! You can’t assume all the blame! It’s me who disappointed you. You already have enough burdens on your shoulders, my love. Don’t carry my faults too.”

Kurtis gave a shuddering sigh and buried his face in his hands. Lara thought he'd cry, but he immediately withdrew his hands and his eyes were still dry and red. “Enough burdens on my shoulders... I spent all my life carrying them all. Before knowing you I felt tempted to put the gun to my head more than once.” He stopped abruptly. He was talking too much about himself. But then resumed his speech by talking with rage. “I just beat the shit outta Giulia. The Voice didn’t endure the humiliation and left her, but it will return. I know it will. And I’m just a beast that has gone berserk...”

“You beat her because of _me?”_

“She was forced to poison you.” Kurtis gasped. “I punished her even though I knew she wasn't to blame. But nothing makes sense without you, Lara... and nothing I do turns out well... I failed... how could I be so stupid to not see...?” He collapsed back in the chair, holding his head in despair. Lara had never seen him so tormented, he used to be so blank.

She put her arm around his shoulders. “Kurtis, forgive me for having hid this.” She muttered. “Everything else is irrelevant.” She hesitated a moment and then went on. “I won’t force you to be responsible for my mistake. I can manage this alone...” She stopped.

Kurtis had calmed down and looked at her solemnly. “Don't insult me, Lara. I care about this child as much as you - and I think if he's been able to make it so far, he’s well worth a try.” He withdrew her arm gently and stood up. Lara looked at him aghast. “Such patience and faith you have in me...”

“That's the difference between you and me, _M'lady_. You'd never forgive me if I ever distrusted you this way.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, put it to his lips and lit it with a gesture that seemed terribly sexy to her.

“I behaved like a spoiled brat.” She whispered.

“You weren't the only one.” He sighed, puffing out the smoke.

Lara looked at him for a while and smiled.

“What’s up?” Kurtis asked then.

“Here's a man who’s not frightened by parenthood. Even in _that_ you had to be different.”

He laughed, but it was a laugh full of bitterness. “If we all survive this, it will be the best thing that ever happened to me.” He threw the cigarette to the floor and stepped on it with his heel. “It will be the only thing worth having been born for, apart from having met you, Lara. Everything else... I'd like to forget forever.”

She didn’t answer, because she knew what he meant - yes, now she knew.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Marcus, Maddalena, Lara and Kurtis left for Syria.

Both Lara and Kurtis had thought in leaving immediately without warning, but it wasn't possible in any way. First, because the one in charge of connecting with Meteora's monastery and requesting the helicopter still being used by the monks, was Zip. Soon it was known by everyone in the castle.

The monks didn’t refuse but also demanded Marcus’ presence to heal _hegumenos_ Nikos - no one could explain how he was still alive. In fact it had been Bathsheba, who not seeing any need to kill him, had ordered the spirit to spare him. But every day was torture - too high a price he was paying for having laid his fingers on her.

And Maddalena...Lara didn’t understand why take her with them. “I can’t agree.” She hissed between teeth, glaring at Kurtis. “She's a nuisance. We’re troubled enough...”

“The Voice hasn't left her – it will return to claim her prey. If someone has to lead us, it's her.” Kurtis replied calmly, trying to pretend he wasn't offended by her jealousy.

It wasn’t the only bad attitude he endured. Marie turned her back to him after knowing they were leaving for Syria, and locked herself in her bedroom. Radha's eyes welled with tears when she learned that Lara, whom she began to love as an older sister, would leave her behind again - but she didn't protest.

Zip and Selma were too engrossed with each other to worry excessively about that and Ivanoff was immersed in his books. However, the Turkish girl didn’t resist telling the explorer: “Are you sure? In your condition...”

_“In_ _my_ _condition_ _!_ I'm not missing a limb, Selma.”

“You know what I mean... Marie's very upset...”

“That’s Kurtis’ business. She’s his mother. I've no obligations to her.”

And the Lux Veritatis, the evening they left, went to talk to the Navajo woman, but she didn’t open. Selma watched from afar as he muttered calmly at the closed door - but no answer came out. Finally he withdrew in silence. When crossing paths with the Turkish girl in the hallway, Kurtis smiled and said: “She’s mad at us, of course. They took her husband away a long time ago, then her son, and now...” He paused for a moment, then continued. “I'd rather have her yelling at me, but that's not her style. Take care of her in my absence, Selma. Will you?”

“Of course.” She smiled, then blushed and hugged him. “You take care of Lara. She’s quite self-confident and can manage this but... she’s risking too much. And of course, take care of yourself. I looked after you for almost a month two years ago and I'd like you to appreciate my effort, you know.”

And there they were, lodged in the helicopter, waiting to depart. Maddalena looked away from the window, crouched in her seat, as if none of this had to do with her. Ivanoff, tightly clutching his glasses so they wouldn’t come flying off with the whirlwind imparted by the propellers, shouted above the roar of the engine: “Did I mention you're completely mad? You’re going nowhere with no goal!”

“Now it’s up to the Voice.” Lara mocked, up to the helicopter. She was dressed in trousers and coat, partially hiding her budding pregnancy. “Vlad, here we're putting in danger all of you. Since we’ve brought Evil with us, at least we’ll take it away from here.”

When the helicopter took off, all remained silent. Kurtis was sitting next to the monk pilot and talking to him in a low voice. Marcus was next to Lara, then addressed her: “I’ll stay in Meteora to help the _hegumenos_. I’ll keep in touch with you through Kurtis.” Seeing Lara’s arched eyebrows, he added. “Quite difficult to explain right now. Call me if anything happens. I may be old but I know how to handle these demons and,” here he lowered his voice, “and I don’t think _he_ _’_ _d_ want to ask for my help.”

The flight to Meteora felt like eternity. No one spoke and Lara spent the trip looking out the corner of the eye at Maddalena, who stood staring at the landscape, barely moving, her copper strands of hair partly hidding her bruised face. Lara would've never rejoiced about Kurtis’ reaction against her - too cruel, even for the ruthless explorer's standards. She simply was surprised to find that him, always under self-control, had lost his temper against someone who couldn’t defend herself and wasn’t at all guilty.

Not that Lara felt sorry for her, anyway.

As the British explorer looked at Maddalena quietly, she couldn’t help but wonder why she couldn't stand her presence. The Italian redhead had dared to defy her only once, when she caught her showing Kurtis her naked body through her wet nightgown – she'd stated that not everyone was high-born like her. Well, she was right. But since Lara had rescued all of them back in the Island, the Italian woman avoided her, shunned her glance and hadn't spoken to her.

No, Maddalena was no rival for Lara. She almost feared her - but it wasn’t enough to stop haunting Kurtis, who was torn between his love for Lara and the remorse for the suffering of that woman who loved him without restraint.

Lara pursed her lips. She wanted Maddalena to disappear. She wanted her out of the way, taken away by that bloody demon, whatever. She did nothing but stand in the middle… and Lara was losing her patience.

Unfortunately, the British explorer could do little against it. At the end of the day, and although she didn’t want to admit it, Lara couldn't stand the fact that Maddalena, all by herself, had been able to find Kurtis, meet him and offer herself to take his place in torture before she'd arrived. When Lara hardly knew where to search, she was already there. The redhead had been there _before_ _her._ Immature and foolish as it sounded, that made Lara greatly upset.

The British explorer decided Maddalena had to disappear. She didn’t know how, and certainly she couldn’t harm her - but she'd to get out of their way. She didn’t even fit in this scenario at all. She was a prostitute and always would be. She had to return with her people. Here, she had nothing left to do.

 

* * *

 

Selma wandered blankly throughout the castle outer, wondering what to do next with her life. Lara and Kurtis no longer needed her, even if it hurt her to admit it. They had left for Syria with Marcus, and she no longer had anything to do with that story. And Zip, with whom – she had to admit it too, she was in love - seemed to have no greater interest than expected, with his nose pressed against his computer screen, for something to happen.

Selma felt helpless. She couldn’t do anything for anyone or take any decision. It was frustrating.

In vain she’d tried to get Marie to open the door. Next to it sat Radha, willing to wait her out, and every time Selma came with food for the old woman, she was still sitting there.

“Has she come out of there?” Asked Selma every time.

The Hindu girl always shook her head. In the end, as Marie didn’t touch food trays, it was she who ate them, deciding to remain in that spot until the Navajo woman went out.

Selma felt horrified when thinking Marie was there for three days, locked up without food and without wanting to talk to anyone. The Turkish girl had even suggested to break down the door, just in case she'd done something stupid, but Radha assured she'd hear Marie coughing and moving around the room.

Meanwhile, Zip was on his laptop and Vlad in his books! Why were men never aware of the seriousness of situations?

One day, in one of her wanderings, Selma had got lost by the gardens surrounding the castle and saw before her a shack-shed like those which gardeners used to store tools. She should've turned around to undo her way, but the few seconds she remained absorbed in her thoughts would be fatal for her.

The shed door burst open.

Everything happened too fast for her, no chance to react. Two huge and strong arms encircled her from behind and lifted from the ground, throwing her into the shed. She tried to scream but a hand clamped over her mouth as she was dragged in. The door closed, throwing her in the dark.

“The famous archaeologist Selma Al-Jazeera...” Whispered a female voice which couldn't be related to _those_ arms. “All a celebrity in her country. Too bad, she’s so young...”

Someone turned on a bulb in the ceiling and then she was released. Selma fell over a shelf full of fertilizer bags as she looked at her kidnappers.

She knew one of them - that brutal mercenary who'd tied Kurtis with barbed wire strand. The other was a woman she'd never seen before, a sweet blonde with green eyes and an exquisite taste in clothes, enhancing the very light and beauty of her face.

“What do you want?” The Turkish girl gasped.

“Don’t scream. No one will hear you. We've men placed in several parts of the gardens. Obviously you've not seen them. I tell you this because you're not going to leave.”

Selma looked terrified. “Who are you?”

“My name is Giselle Boaz. Ah, I see it's familiar to you. Your British friend must have told you about me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Reckoning.”

Three men whom she hadn’t seen before came out the darkness and surrounded Schäffer. Selma pressed closer against the shelf, while the sweat ran down her back. “I did _nothing_ to you!”

“You think so? Are not you the same Selma who hosted in her home and took care of a murderer?”

“Kurtis’ not a murderer. And I'd never refuse to help someone sick and wounded. You don’t help sick and wounded. You kill them.”

“Stupid girl. You know nothing about anything. Kurtis murdered my sister. My dear Kristina, who was like a twin to me. He killed her in cold blood and without being able to defend herself.”

“That's a lie!” Selma cried, outraged.

“Say what you want. But not satisfied with that, you helped that bitch Lara Croft, you opened the city of Eden so she could plunder it, and you also helped them to murder Karel.”

“It was Karel, through Eckhardt, who killed my friends and my boyfriend, who destroyed my projects and my whole life.” Selma couldn’t stop. “No one, but him, is a murderer. _You_ _’_ _re_ the one who doesn’t know what you're talking about.”

Giselle took two steps forward and, raising her hand, slapped her. The girl's face slammed into the shelf. She cried and her mouth started to bleed.

“Minion.” She heard again Giselle’s voice. “Damn Turkish bitch. You’ve been working willingly with that slut and her pig of a lover. You think your life has been miserable? Wait and see.”

The doctor raised her hand again and snapped her fingers. Immediately the four men surrounded her and started dragging her back. Selma screamed even knowing no one would hear her. Her panic increased when she was thrown back on the surface of a table and they began to undress her, since her screaming, crying, and kicking could do nothing against the strength of those brutes.

“Don’t worry, darling.” Giselle said. “They’re not going to rape you. These are men of good breeding, pure German blood. They would _never_ mix with scum like you.”

Once they finished stripping her, Schäffer took a heavy chain and passed it around a wooden beam above, adjusted it well and bound Selma’s wrists to it, while she was strongly held by the others. Then he tugged at the other end of the chain and lifted her, leaving her half hanging from the ceiling while her knees still had support on the table.

Giselle nodded, satisfied, and then Schäffer tied the chain to another beam. The other three flew back to their place in the shadows, while eyeing Selma’s nakedness, whose dark skin was damp with sweat.

“Your two friends,” continued the doctor, “along with that redheaded whore and the old man, have vanished. Where are they? Where have they gone?”

Selma remained silent.

“I asked you a question. If you don’t answer, you'll be in trouble. Where have they gone?”

Silence.

Giselle sighed in annoyance and, raising her hand, snapped her fingers again. Schäffer stepped forward and kicked the table, making it fall. Selma’s body, without support, hung itself down; her toes barely touching the ground.

“I’ll have to ask another friend of yours.” Giselle insisted. “The black man, for example. Or the Indian girl! What would be a few fingers _more_ for her?”

“Monster!” Selma suddenly dropped, making a tremendous effort to breath. That position was very painful.

“I'm not more monstrous than that fucking bastard and the whore he just impregnated. Ah, of course I know that, my dear. What kind of monster would I be otherwise?”

Schäffer tried not to smile – listening to the delicate Giselle Boaz swearing like that was unheard of.

“Will you speak? Or will I have to ask someone else?”

Selma took another slow, painful breath. “Guess what? Kurtis didn’t kill your sister. Eckhardt killed her despite everything she'd done for his cause. She was killed before your Karel’s very eyes, who did _nothing_ to stop him.”

“Shut up!”

_“_ _Now_ you want me to shut up? If she'd been you, that devil you think you loved wouldn’t have done _anything_ for you. And you waste your life in his cause. You're pathetic, I feel sorry for you. I hope it’s true that there’s a hell where people like you are going. Hopefully, when you go there, you’ll meet _him_ , and he'll tell you what I’m telling you now: that he _never_ cared about you!”

Giselle pounced on her, but went back disgusted when feeling a sticky substance on her face. She'd spit on her! “Adolf!” The doctor yelled. “Give it to me!”

The mercenary hesitated. He looked at the blonde covering her dirty cheek with a trembling hand and offering him the other, her face red with anger and her eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

“Doctor, better to...”

“Give it to me _now!_ _”_ Giselle howled again. The outstretched hand shook under his nose. The mercs were looking amazed at her.

“Giselle.” Schäffer lowered his voice. “That’s not what we planned... I can’t let you do this...”

“It's the last time I command this, Adolf Schäffer!” She shouted in reply.

At last, after a few seconds of indecision, the leader of the mercenaries slowly removed an object from his coat, wrapped in a cloth. He unfolded it and put it slowly in Giselle's hand, who gripped it and turned back to Selma.

Suddenly, the Turkish girl desired to be dead.

To disappear.

To close her eyes and find out it was all a bad dream, a nightmare. That was _not_ real, Giselle didn’t have _that_ in her hand, and she was _not_ directing it towards her and lifting it up to her belly.

An iron hook.


	37. Purification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is an awesome shot of Bran's castle at Brasov (Romania), one of the locations of the fanfic.

When Meteora valley appeared before her, Lara thought she would've never suspected to return there so many times - and yet the beauty of that place still made her mute in awe.

Maddalena was also silent while watching, impressed by those huge masses of stone with monasteries on the top. After the helicopter landed near Kalambaka, she felt dizzy when discovering the only way to access Ayios Stefanos was to climb that almost vertical wall, as the famous web-elevator would be used only by the elder Marcus.

Lara turned towards the redhead and said: “No need to go up. The climb's exhausting and we’re just going to stop for an hour.” Maddalena was about to thank her when the British explorer, turning around, said aloud: “Anyway, I don’t think the monks will allow you in. They’re picky enough with common women, they'd probably make a fuss with a _prostitute_.”

The Italian girl blushed and tried to hold back a harsh reply, but she finally said: “I don’t think you should climb either, sister, considering your delicate _pregnancy_ _.”_

Lara pivoted on her heels in time to see how some monks who'd arrived to meet them exchanged a shocked look. The argument didn't go further because Kurtis grabbed Lara’s arm - not too gently, and took her away. “Making friends are we, M'lady?” He hissed quietly.

“Funny to see how you take her side.”

“You’ve provoked her, Lara. No need for this - you're making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“You're blind about what’s happening here, aren't you? I warned you and since you do _nothing_ to handle this, I will.”

Kurtis let her go, stepped back and stared at her. At last he muttered: “I love you, Lara, but I hate when you behave like a spoiled brat.” Without giving her time to reply, he turned and headed towards the monastery. Lara watched him walk away in silence.

 

* * *

 

The whole community had come to greet them. At seeing them appear together, both Healer and Fighter, the monks did something they had never done before: they bowed their heads and fell on their knees. Marcus stretched out his hands, grateful, but Kurtis stepped back, frowning. Disgusting - it was _disgusting!_ Were they gods? Some kind of Messiah? He felt sick.

“In this evil hour,” said the parish clerk, who acted as spokesman, “at last a glimpse of hope for our dying _hegumenos_. In your dying Order there's still a Healer alive: God's answer to our prayers.”

Marcus, who shone like a transfigured Christ, asked: “Take me to your _hegumenos_.”

The cell remained dark and stuffy. When they open the door, a wave of stench struck the two Lux Veritatis. Kurtis went back and covered his mouth and nose. Before Marcus’ indignant gesture, the parish clerk hastened to explain: “His condition has worsened a lot. He went wild and impossible to deal with, broke the ropes and attacked our brothers when we tried to feed and wash him, so we'd to chain him to the bed. He tore our Brother Kyriakos’ ear by biting him. Dirty and having to lay down, he has bed sores on his back, but we daren’t let him go. He hasn’t eaten for days, but looks like the devil keeps him alive. You, who are Gifted, please have mercy on him.”

Marcus entered decisively into the stinking cell and commanded to open the window. The show he found would've scared the bravest of mortals.

Lying and rigid, with torn clothes and covered by his own filth, a thin and wrinkled Nikos was waiting for a hopeless death. He was just reduced to his bones; his head like a skull, his eyes wide, his jaw collapsed and his clenched teeth full of bloody foam. The stench was as disgusting as the worms Kurtis could see sliding down the festering sores produced by the bindings.

“Close the door, Brother,” ordered Marcus to the parish clerk, “and withdraw to pray for your _hegumenos_. I'll do my best.”

When Kurtis was about to follow him, the old man said: “Stay. I need your psychic powers to deal with this creature.”

Without turning, the Fighter replied: “You _don't_ command me, Marcus. I thought this was clear when I left the Order.”

“Will you deny relief to a troubled soul?”

“I also remember saying I don’t like your methods.”

“They’re not _mine_. This has been done since the Order exists. And if you don’t want me to command you, I _beg_ you. Without you it will be impossible, son.”

Finally, Kurtis relented and turned. A shiver ran down his spine at seeing Nikos, his head twisted in a horrible angle and his drooling mouth twisted in a grotesque grimace, having his bloodshot eyes upon him. The _hegumenos_ started to shake violently, and releasing a dreadful laugh said: “Ah, woe to you!”

Marcus went towards the bed - though the stench was enough to repel anyone back. Then the possessed started screaming harder, still looking at Kurtis: “Woe to you, son of a whore and lover of a whore! Woe to you, Fighter! The hole is already open under your feet, death hands you her arms and a grave awaits you! Woe to you, doomed before birth, for you'll die in terror and be doomed for all eternity...!”

The old man stepped forward and snapped: “Shut up! One hundred thousand of aeons have passed since you were thrown out by the angels of Paradise, with your Lord and your Lady, to drink from the shadows, and to grieve in the darkness, and from that day you still dare to torment those who are pure and servants of the Light.”

But the creature who spoke by the mouth of Nikos didn’t attend his words and continued screaming at Kurtis: “Woe to you, bastard! You filled up the measure and your time is coming!”

“It's all a pack of lies.” Marcus interjected.

Nikos's head turned towards him so sharply that his neck bones cracked.

 _“_ _Lies!_ _”_ He croaked. “How dare you! The Voice in the Dark doesn’t know the essence of lie - a mortals’ feature, but speaks clearly of what the Great Goddess has seen in the distance. And I who repeat her clear words, I’m not lying either.”

“What else has this fucking goddess said?” The possessed turned his head again to Kurtis, who'd just spoken. The Fighter had clenched fists and his knuckles were white, as if those words were disturbing him. However it was not for him whom he cared.

“I wouldn’t speak so lightly of Her who has your life in Her hands.” Nikos mocked. “Everything you've endured so far is nothing compared to what awaits you - and you won’t be the only one to atone for his pride...ha, ha, ha!”

“Let’s end this.” Kurtis muttered, standing next to Marcus.

 

* * *

 

Lara wasn’t being idle - that wasn't her style. She'd jumped down from the helicopter, went to a rock and sat on it, displayed a map of Syria and started phoning all the contacts she'd in the area - not many as she'd barely been there in the past, but that would be enough.

As she was managing this, she thought all that adventure was a crazy business - they weren’t going to any particular place, nor for anything in particular. The main idea was to take away danger from those who'd been left behind - and she couldn’t know yet that wouldn't work.

However, Lara was far from being lost, as Maddalena or even Kurtis felt lost. She knew exactly what she'd to do. First thing was talking to Bathsheba. The beautiful Nephilim had been rather “accessible”- of course, if it suit her own goals, but she also lacked her father's cruel side. While that didn’t make her better, it could mean a chance for Lara, who suspected that being a newborn, Bathsheba could be dealt with in a way she'd never have considered with Karel.

However, she couldn't be confident about that, since though the Nephilim was young that didn’t mean she was naive. If at that point Bathsheba had retrieved the Shards it would be the perfect time to implement the plan the British explorer had in mind, since Kurtis was protecting them from the sharp sight of the Nephi...

A shadow covered the sunlight and Lara looked up. Maddalena was in front of her. It was impressive to see her backlit, the sun filtering through her locks gave the impression her hair was on fire. “What are you doing?” She asked.

Lara was about to send her to hell, but then said: “I'm planning our next moves.”

The redhead surrounded her narrow waist with her white arms. She looked really helpless despite her pride. “I've no idea what we're doing and where we’re going.” She muttered. “If you'd explain to me... everyone seems to know what we take in hand, but me.”

“That's because you _shouldn_ _’_ _t_ be here.” Lara replied bluntly. “You should have remained with your people – you're messing with something beyond your understanding.”

Maddalena looked at her briefly and then said: “You don’t like me. You think I’m molesting Kurtis.”

“I don’t _think_ so.” Lara mocked. “I _see_ it every day.”

The Italian woman looked very confused - she wasn’t used to Lara's temper, but she forced herself to stand and said: “I don’t care about what you think or see - I'm not willing to be humiliated by you. I may not be more than a whore, but you're not better than me, not with that queen-of-the-world attitude and manners. Not because of having been born wi...”

“... with my ass on cotton pillows am I superior to you. Thanks, I remember how to finish the sentence. I’ve heard that many times. Y'know what?”

Maddalena remained silent.

“You should inform yourself about who I am, so you can find out that I have lived to detach those cotton pillows from _my_ _ass_ , as you say with your low-life manners. I don’t need anyone at my side, I support myself with my two hands. Instead, you've had to live in the shadow of scoundrels and despicable people to go on.” Then Lara got up abruptly. Maddalena stepped back instinctively, but the British explorer swung the map and added: “However, you refuse to return with your people and you're chasing a man who's not interested at you. And behold, a demon has chosen you as a means to poison me, pry the only advantage we'd on our enemies, and worsen our situation. Looks like I'll have to put up with you, but now you’re going to know exactly what you're dealing with.”

 

* * *

 

The surgeon couldn’t believe his eyes. He'd crossed the aisle, running sterilized at full speed, and when he saw the body in the operating room, screamed in rage: “Who did _this?”_

“Severe bleeding from laceration with a pointed metal object.” The nurse reported. “Tearing of the peritoneum and several broken floating ribs...”

“I see, I see!” He grunted, quickly adjusting his gloves.

The woman on the stretcher - a woman? Just a girl! had her belly cut open, so her bowels had spilled out. The nurse was trying to introduce them all over again in the body with trembling hands, while another surgeon was attempting to repair the blood vessels, which were quickly shedding their contents, but there was so much blood that she no longer knew what she was looking at.

“How many blood bags did she take?” The first surgeon gasped.

“Three ... we're running out of blood. We're losing her.”

“How many years?”

“About twenty-five. Turkish. Selma Al-Jazeera.”

Amid the red splash on his glasses, the surgeon remembered...Selma Al-Jazeera? Was she that young archaeologist at Cappadocia? His young son, who was studying History, used to talk about her all the time...

“We're losing her, Doctor...”

“More bags!”

 

* * *

 

In the aisle, Zip tore his hair, ripped his shirt collar, and bit his finger nails. He let out loads of curses and profanities, half blind with tears - until Marie sighed, stood before him and slapped him twice, cutting off the poor man's hysteria.

“Stop behaving like an ass!” The Navajo woman spat in his very face. “You’re embarrassing your partner! Be worthy of this trial you're enduring!”

Zip groaned and collapsed on a seat. Luckily, they were alone in the room, apart from Vlad, who'd watched the scene in horror, and Radha, who was standing like a caryatid in front of the entrance door of the operating room, staring at the junction of the doors.

“That bitch... that bitch...!” Zip hissed through his clenched teeth.

It had been Giselle - no doubt. Selma had been found chained, her belly open and her guts hanging. A clean, stylish cut, a surgeon cutting. Not lethal but intended to make her suffer for hours, and for hours she'd cried for help, and with every cry her insides fell out a little more, so she'd not move - and the blood trickling down her legs. When Zip found her, she'd already passed out.

“Hanged and gutted…!” He yelled, burying his head in his hands “That butcherer... that bitch...”

Radha stepped back, knelt on the ground, and clasped her hands. Then she bowed her head and started mumbling a litany in her language.

“Pray, child, pray.” Marie murmured. “She's gonna need it...”

Only that tragedy had been able to bring her out of her confinement. The Navajo woman was weakened by her hunger strike, but after seeing the panorama, it looked like it was time to stop fooling around and take care of the others. One more time.

 

* * *

 

Quietly, firmly, Kurtis and Marcus joined hands before the _hegumenos_ _’_ bed. The demon, who'd seen this sign performed many times over the centuries, knew what to expect, but still showed no fear and no will to leave the body, and laughed and insulted them with a parley half in Greek, half in Latin.

It was Healers' business to expel a demon entrenched in a human body. Purification ceremonies, as they were called, were performed by several Healers and at least one Fighter containing the evil spirit with the strength of his mind, for a Healer was vulnerable during the exorcism.

And now there were only a Healer and a Fighter - a very old Healer indeed, and a Fighter who didn’t want to be so, but who had the strength of many. And that was acknowledged by that demon, who, seeing the risk, sent a message to his Lady: _What_ _should_ _I_ _do?_ _Leave_ _,_ _endure_ _?_ _How_ _much_ _longer_ _do I have to_ _deal_ _with_ _this?_

Over time, distance, and the vacuum of silence Bathsheba heard the lament of the creature. After a while, she commanded: _Resist_ _as_ _long_ _as_ _you_ _can_ _and_ _then_ _leave._ _Hurt_ _them_ _as_ _much_ _as_ _you_ _can,_ _kill_ _the_ _old_ _man_ _if_ _you're_ _able - a_ _nd_ _then_ _withdraw_ _,_ _you've_ _done_ _enough._

Again the evil spirit insisted, saying, _Should_ _I_ _kill_ _the_ _hegumenos?_

Bathsheba said, _No need, h_ _e'_ _ll_ _die_ _alone._ _Now_ _back_ _off,_ _I'm_ _busy._

“Listen, evil spirit!” Marcus shouted. “I command you to leave this mortal body you’re tormenting and go back to the Shadow you came from. If you don’t obey, I shall expel you by force, cleansing you like a festering wound, and that will be harsh and I’ll even destroy you if necessary.”

For answer, the spirit issued a grotesque laughter to provoke the Healer, who immediately started the ritual.

About what happened there in, the monks never knew: they heard as if they were butchering the poor _hegumenos_ for almost three hours. There wasn’t the slightest physical aggression though - it was all a battle between minds: the demon and the two Lux Veritatis - a harsh struggle. The spirit twisted Nikos’ body until releasing the bounds which tied him to the bed and threw himself over Marcus, knocked him on the ground and would've strangled him if Kurtis hadn’t pulled him out of there and sent him headlong into the other end of the room, using his telekinesis to avoid touching that dirty, tortured carcase.

“Damn, I've killed him.” He mumbled grumpy, helping Marcus to get up, whose lip was bleeding.

“Hopefully not.” Said the old man, coughing, dropping himself into a chair.

Kurtis quickly bent over the _hegumenos_ limp body, who suddenly twisted as if receiving an electrical shock and put his hands around his neck, choking him, his nails scratching his skin and leaving blood grooves, as a last attempt. But after that the spirit was exhausted and left, yelling in frustration. The _hegumenos'_ body stopped shaking and collapsed on Kurtis, who pulled him away and lay on the ground.

Marcus went towards him and examined him. Nikos was unconscious and breathing very faintly. Kurtis stood scratching his neck and looking around. Finally he said: “It's gone. Won’t return.”

“Blessed be the Light. Call the monks, son, he needs care.”

The brothers praised the two Lux Veritatis as hurried to attend the _hegumenos_ , who cured and washed along with that filthy room. Kurtis didn’t miss more than one glance of reproach from them, as if saying _you_ _weren_ _’_ _t_ _able_ _,_ _but_ _he's_ _done_ _it_. The Fighter didn’t care about what they may think – and truth be told since without his help, Marcus wouldn't have made it.

The American turned his back to everyone and went to the monastery entrance. The bright sun hurt his eyes, after being at the darkness of the monk’s stinking cell. He rubbed the scratches on his neck, thinking about what the spirit had told him. He wasn't sure all that was bullshit – Marcus could believe as he pleased, but as a Fighter, during all his life, he'd learned far more about demons than any Healer.

At that time, Marcus, who'd followed him, overtook him and said: “Where are you going, son?”

“Lara and Giulia are waiting for me. I'm leaving, Marcus, I've nothing left to do here.”

“I'll stay. Nikos may not survive and here I’m needed. May the Light be with you, son.”

“And with you, Marcus.”

 

* * *

 

The chief police leaned over and examined the photographs taken from the crime scene. Then he sighed and threw them on the table, and looked at the two women before him. A young and an old one - two Indians, one from the actual India and one who must be a red-skin or something...

“I’m Navajo, inspector.” Marie said. “Stop looking at me that way.”

“Excuse me. You're without doubt a pretty picturesque group. I spoke with the surgeon and stated the injury is caused by a person skilled in medicine... so they didn’t immediately seek to kill Miss Al-Jazeera. If you can...”

“I told you.” The old woman insisted. “She’s a young and attractive woman, her name's Giselle Boaz and she’s a scientist - or so she thinks.”

“Where from do you draw the guidelines for making such a statement?”

Marie remained silent. What could she say? How to start from the beginning - the _Nephili_ , the Cabal, the Lux Veritatis and a lifetime of misery and suffering? “She’s our enemy. I think she acted out of revenge.”

“You must get me familiar with such a relationship or I won’t trust you, no less to let you go.”

“You can’t hold me against my will. What charges do you have against me?”

“It’s compulsory that...”

“Stop wasting time. That crazy killer is on the loose. You better find her before there’s another tragedy.”

“Ma'am...”

“There’s the crime scene, a filthy tool shed where they've hung an innocent girl and gutted her like a pig. We can provide information concerning this woman, and what activities she’s dedicated to...” Suddenly, there was light in Marie’s mind. Leaning towards the agent, she said: “Two years ago, there were a series of crimes committed in the Strahov in Prague and then in the outskirts of Munich, in a place known as the Laboratory. Are you familiar with those facts?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Then contact the Czech and German police and they will tell you the same about Giselle Boaz - she was among the few implicated who managed to escape.”

 

* * *

 

Zip, his forehead and hands resting on the cold glass, was staring at the clear liquid poured through the tube into Selma’s arm, who, covered with a sheet up to her neck, danced on the border between life and death, without regaining consciousness. Thus he could see her only through the glass - after surgery she'd been transferred to the ICU, the wreckage of her belly already patched. Stuck to that glass, he spent hours without moving.

“Son...” The hacker took a moment to cast his eyes away from her, but he finally did. The surgeon was beside him, and judging by the way he was looking at him, with pity; he must be looking terrible. “Son, this is in God’s hands, as my grandmother used to tell me. I did my best, but she’s very weak and depends on her own strength. We’ll watch her day and night to take care of her, but I won’t give you any hope. It's up to her now...”

Zip wasn’t listening - he felt a ringing in the ears. What a fool he'd been, while she was screaming and bleeding, helpless before her executioners, and he was engaged with a damn computer. That was how he'd spent his whole life and now, because of that, he was about to lose her… she, who was the only one to make him feel, in a long time, that life’s worth living.

The surgeon, receiving no answer, patted his back and walked away, lamenting, _what_ _a_ _pity,_ _such a_ _young_ _and_ _pretty_ _girl,_ _these_ _things_ _should_ _n'_ _t_ _happen,_ _what_ _a_ _disgrace..._ and prepared himself for another night of insomnia.

Then Zip's cell phone rang - at first he didn’t recognize the singing melody, but then he picked it up: “Zip, honey, it’s me, Marie...”

“...”

“Look, we reached a consensus with the police. That damn woman won’t remain unpunished, but now we’re in danger, Zip, we gotta hide...”

“Not gonna go anywhere, Marie. My place's here with her.”

“Son, you’re in serious danger, we gotta...”

“Why _on earth_ is everyone calling me "son"!? I ain’t nobody’s son, and I’m not moving an inch from here!”

“As you want...I hope you're aware of...”

“I’m aware that _Selma_ _'_ _s_ _dying_ , period.”

“Vlad will return to the castle nevertheless, there's been no way to convince him, and as for me, I'll take care of Radha’s safety and trying to contact both my son and Lara.”

“Good luck, Marie. You don't need to worry about me no more.” He hung up and kept looking through the glass.

 

* * *

 

On reaching the place where the helicopter was waiting, Kurtis saw Lara sitting, looking at a map, and Maddalena at her side. The British explorer, as usual in her, looked calm and self-confident as if this were just another adventure, as if she wasn’t pregnant and expecting death - if he'd to trust what that demon had predicted, and it was foolish not to listen to it.

Kurtis sighed. What he would’ve done to have the faith she had - in herself and her chances, so everything would be fine. Maybe that's why she'd succeeded in almost everything she'd fallen into, whereas he'd failed again and again.

Seeing him, Maddalena rose. If he'd been already shocked seeing the two of them together and in silence, he was far more shocked by how she looked at him, as if for the first time. Not so, he corrected himself, because the first time she'd looked at him with sexual desire, and now as if he was a freak, a creature as strange as admirable.

“You're bleeding!” The redhead said. He'd forgotten about the scratches on his neck, touched them and mumbled that it was nothing.

“Must have been...ominous.” Lara said shrewdly.

“I've had worse.” He replied. “Sorry for taking too long. How it's going?”

The British explorer quickly folded up the huge map. “Complicated. We’ll make a first stop in Beirut and then continue to Damascus. I've some contacts in the area.”

“Syria's wide.” Maddalena interjected, to Kurtis’ surprise. “There's no place we can aim for, as you told me.”

“No, but I've a clue.” Smiling, Lara walked to the chopper and jumped in, prompting the pilot to fly to Lebanon.

Maddalena glanced at Kurtis candidly and walked leisurely towards the vehicle.

Well, that was weird. _What_ _did_ _you_ _tell_ _her,_ _Lara?_

 

* * *

 

Nikos Kavafis, successor of the ineffable Minos Axiotis - who'd died in odour of sanctity, regained consciousness and opened his eyes, looked stunned at the crowd of brethren around him, and among them an old man slightly bent, long white hair, but with a fierce expression on his face.

“How do you feel, _patéras_ Kavafis?”

“Who are you?”

“Marcus the Healer, brother of the Lux Veritatis' Order.”

The _hegumenos_ put his hands to his temples, dazed, and two brothers helped him to sit in the bed, now clean and healed of his wounds, still staring at the old man. Marcus finally rolled up his black robe and bared his skinny shoulder.

“A Lux Veritatis Healer!” Nikos exclaimed, seeing the tattoo.

“I survived the Order's extinction, as brother Kurtis whom you already know. However, there will be time to talk about this later. How are you?”

“Not very well... what happened to me?”

“Don’t you remember?”

Nikos ran his hands over his face, exhausted, and looked at his bandaged hands. “A woman... with big green eyes...”

“Is that your last memory? _Patéras_ _,_ it's been almost five months since the Nephilim Bathsheba...”

The _hegumenos_ writhed when hearing that name and let out a scream. “I've sinned against chastity. That demon prompted me to lust. She came and stole the Periapt...I've sinned...”

“Any sin you think you’ve committed are purged to spare. You've been purified and the evil spirit won’t haunt you anymore.”

“I can't remember anything...”

“So much the better. _Patéras_ , I request an immediate meeting with the entire community. You’re still weak and shouldn’t get up, but it’s compulsory to convene the meeting. Something serious is happening.”

“Be as you say. Pancratios will attend on my behalf.”

The novice bowed, flattered by being awarded with such honor.

 

* * *

 

The meeting was held in the refectory. There were already many monks who lived in Ayios Stefanos – thirty to be exact - despite those who'd died and that no new novices came, except Pancratios, who, as Marcus would know later, had been abandoned as a child at the foot of the immense rock and his cries attracted the attention of the monks, who adopted him. This conditioned his sour spirit, and led him to such an ascetic life among adults and elderly men. Looking at the monks who'd gathered around him, the Healer knew that in many generations the monastery would be empty and become just another place for sightseeing.

And so it must be. The old historical monastic orders were doomed to disappear. Some of them because of having died or grown older, others because having been exterminated.

Discarding that dark thought, Marcus started: “Brethren, I came to you not only to heal your _hegumenos_ , for whose recovery I'm pleased. A great danger hangs over the world. Two years ago, the last of the High Breed was killed by the last of the Fighters - but this has done nothing but cast ourselves into a greater danger. You all know that there’s a woman of disturbing beauty, in whose presence mortal beings are captivated by her charm.”

He paused, and then he heard Pancratios saying:

“A witch of Satan!”

“A Nephilim, brother. A child born from Giselle Boaz’s scientific experiments, a scorned woman who's lost her mind, risking herself greatly to breed a creature that could've been monstrous, but which turned out to be perfect for her goals.” A murmur rose among the monks, and finally Marcus picked up the thread of discourse: “This creature has been given the name of Bathsheba. Some of you’ve already seen her - she arrived here to steal the Sacred Periapt and cursed your _hegumenos_ when he tried to stop her. No more than two years of life she has, and therefore she's practically a newborn, but she’s cunning to become a real danger. Specially because judging by what we've been investigating, she's made a contact with the Queen of the Vortex.”

That comment caused great horror - suddenly there were shouts and the monks began to gesticulate too wildly, talking to each other. The parish clerk called for silence and then said: “Brother Marcus, we’re Christians. We don’t believe in pagan gods.”

“I assure you, Brother, that Lilith's as real as you and me. As real as Bathsheba is, as it was the one who called himself Joachim Karel, her genetic father. As real as there’s a place where this creature lives, together with Her husband, the angel Sama...”

“The Devil!” Pancratios exploded indignantly. “You’re talking about Satan in this holy place!”

“You did it before...” Marcus hissed, but the novice didn’t hear him, but added: “You speak of Satan as an angel, but he’s not but an abject devil, the father of all Hell's aberrations!”

“Personally, brother Pancratios, now I'm more worried about His wife than about Himself - and I expect to be able to speak without interruptions.” The novice was now silent and moody, so Marcus continued: “I won’t go into lengthy detail about the latest events - I will soon. Now it’s important to know that Bathsheba is seizing the Order’s sacred objects: she stole the Periapt, and as for the Three Shards, we believe they should already be in her possession - and we know why she stole them.”

The parish clerk, who'd been meditating with a frown, whispered: “The _hegumenos_ Minos, may he rest in peace, told me about this. He said that the crystal of such objects couldn’t be broken, but also said that, according an ancient tradition, they could only be broken by the impure Lilith, goddess of the underworld.”

“That's an atrocity!” Shouted one monk in the back rows. “You’re calling _goddess_ to a devil! That’s polytheism, blasphemy!”

“We've no time to waste in dogmatic considerations.” Marcus grunted. “Well, Brother, we think so. We believe that the Nephilim will take them to her Mother to destroy them, and then she'll be indestructible. But that's not all, as Bathsheba also stole Lilith’s Scepter from the ancient city of Tenebra, although Miss Croft and Brother Kurtis tried to recover it before.” There was silence. “Never heard of Lilith’s Scepter? It brought so much bitterness to the Order in medieval times. Looks like a rod, but it’s a weapon. It’s said that the Goddess rose and with a single blow she could kill hundreds of mortals.”

Outraged, the monk who'd protested rose and left the room, but not before spitting towards Marcus: “ _Blasphemer!”_

When the door closed abruptly, the Healer continued calmly: “If Lilith rises, and the Scepter reaches Her hands, not only the Nephilim’s direct enemies, but all mankind, will be in great danger. Bathsheba must be stopped. Unfortunately, we only have a vague prophecy - stammered through the mouth of a demon, Lilith’s servant, calling itself The Voice In The Darkness, which selects a group of people travelling on a Bitter Path of pain and death as a sacrifice to the Goddess, who will bemoan some and doom others. And I don’t even know who are called to suffer such fate, except for brother Kurtis and Miss Croft.”

“What can we do, Brother, against such evil? Our prayers will be of little use; we are but humble monks.”

“I don’t want prayers from you. I want you to let me access the library.”

The Healer heard a shocked whisper. What Marcus had just requested was no banality. The libraries of the monasteries of Meteora were absolutely private and no one who wasn’t a monk could access them, even a novice couldn’t see the door leading there. Penalties for access to the library without a specialized license included some lashes - an unreformed rule of the Middle Ages, as there had been no cases of novices or monks who tried to break the rule.

And now a lay man from outside the monastery, despite he was a Lux Veritatis, requested access to the library - but Marcus knew what he’d said. For weeks he'd investigated, along with Vlad, Lara, and Kurtis, all resources and documents in Bran’s castle, and all writings, texts and manuscripts that the professor had gathered, and all computing resources provided by Zip. All for not finding out enough about the prophecy, Lilith Herself, or any information to help them. If the answer wasn’t there, in one of the oldest libraries in Europe, it wouldn't anywhere else.

“That must be discussed with the _patéras_.” The parish clerk muttered. “I'm sorry, but we can’t promise anything. Now, if any...”

“Wait a minute.” Marcus interrupted. “There’s another crucial thing you should know...”

 

* * *

 

Ivanoff ordered piles of papers at full speed. His office was a mess, with sheets spread all over the floor, and while tiding this or that classified document, his mind was spinning thinking how little he'd achieved so far. He, who called himself a professor, couldn’t do much regarding what to expect from the prophecy.

Vlad took off his glasses and wiped the sweat from his forehead, lamenting the mess surrounding him: Selma dying, Zip alienated, Marie and Radha at the police and Lara and Kurtis stumbling in the Middle East without a clue about where to go - or so he thought...and himself without knowing what to think: all was madness.

The Romanian professor had just ordered three piles of documents and he was heading to the next when he noticed a shadow in a dark corner of the office, lit by little more than a lamp and firelight, for it was night.

“Who are you?” Ivanoff asked without trembling, as at that point he was no longer the same frightened little man who tried to challenge Lara and Kurtis two years before.

The figure emerged from the shadows and stood at the light. At first glance, the professor saw a young, pretty blonde woman with short hair and green eyes. He knew immediately who she was and his hands remained stiff on the documents.

“Vladimir Ivanoff.” She whispered. “I’ve taken so much trouble to find out about you. You've a Ph.D. in Philosophy and Letters, and for many years - _too_ many I think, you did historical research focused on this old castle as if it were your own place. What I wonder now is how you were able to help those criminals.

“That’s what I ask you, ma'am, as it was the Cabal who set this castle on fire.” He'd not finished saying this when another shadow, much bigger, came out of the darkness. The Romanian professor felt the blood freeze in his veins at the sight of a burly bully, ruddy and stern.

Giselle, meanwhile, had already approached the table and, taking a sheet, looked at it slightly, then threw it down. “I'm sick of papers and documents... my daughter has spent months mulling over superstitions drawn from papers like these, and your friend the British lady has been struggling for a filthy wad of documents held by the mafia, whose whore took beyond the sea and slipped into my domain... yes, I've come to find out all, I've good contacts. I’m done with this.”

Schäffer, meanwhile, had approached the table and at Giselle’s indication, swept with a blow of his arm all the organized piles of papers that Vlad have taken hours to classify. They rose in a cloud and fell scattered throughout the room. The professor didn’t flinch.

“We should ignore superstitions, right, Professor?” Giselle said, sitting elegantly in an armchair in front of him. “They dull the mind and make people waste their time when the future belongs to science and progress. You should've considered that before collaborating with those criminals.”

From the corner of his eye Ivanoff saw the mercenary approaching to look at a shelf, and then took a heavy, odd bronze statuette representing an angel about to take flight. Then he returned to Giselle and Vlad holding the statue by the head.

“By the way,” Giselle said then, while the professor held her gaze without saying a word, “I forgot to ask, how's the Turkish girl doing? It would be rude of me to not ask!”

“Ma'am,” Vlad sighed, exhausted, “you’d know better than me since that was your doing. I'm tired of your speech, honestly, so do what you came for and leave.”

At that time the phone rang. Schäffer arched his eyebrows, but Giselle waved and said: “Have the goodness to answer the call, Professor.”

Extending a hand that trembled slightly, Ivanoff picked it up:

“Vlad! It's you?” It was Lara.

His throat was dry. After clearing his voice, he stammered: “Yes, it's me...”

At the time Giselle leaned over the table and Schäffer put his ear on the handset: “Vlad, we’re in Lebanon. We’ll take the road to Damascus in a week, but... I remember you said something about a temple nearby...”

Although his voice was gone due to sheer terror, Giselle pointed him with a jerk to make him answer. “Yes, Lara, darling, there.... there’s a temple in Syria ... near Damascus ... an ancient t-temple...”

“Is something wrong, Vlad?”

He would've wanted to scream, asking for help, telling her she was in danger, that they had mortally wounded Selma, but he'd only answer... “It’s only I'm knackered. You know, mulling over all this... by the way,” he coughed, “there’s a temple half buried near Damascus. That temple began to be dug in the 50's, but due to instabilities, wars, conflicts and all that, you know, the archaeologist team was expelled and has been abandoned since then...”

“The temple was devoted to Lilith, Vlad, so I’m going there.”

“Are... are you sure? Looking for a half-ruined temple seems a very little thing...”

“Leave me to it, I'm good at this. Tell Zip to give me the coordinates when he can get them. I must leave, Vlad, farewell.” And she hung up.

Ivanoff's hand slowly went to return the handset on the base, but Schäffer snatched it from his hand and smashed it against the wall, making it shatter.

“So, Lebanon and Damascus, huh?” Giselle smiled. “Well, I didn't need to gut you also to find out what that silly girl wouldn’t tell me. You’ve been very lucky - you don’t know _until what point_.”

“Leave them alone. You said you weren't into superstitions... What brings you to this? What harm can they do to you?”

“The harm was already done to me. This is just payback. Tell me, Professor, do you also believe in such bullshit? Do you believe in this prophecy?”

Vlad didn’t answer. He was silent and kept looking at her, when suddenly, _God_ , an absurd, crazy idea, went through his mind in the last moments of his life, just when casually touched his pocket, and noticed that there was his little Swiss Army knife...

“Professor?”

“Ma'am, I can't tell. But I know that the _Nephili_ believe in it, and therefore the last of them, whom you have known, did so. If so high and supernatural beings, whom exceed us, unfortunately, in wisdom and understanding as much as they exceed us in evil and cruelty, believed it, it must be true. As for me, I won't say more.” And suddenly, without warning, Vlad jumped up and pounced on Giselle, waving the knife’s sharp blade directly towards her face in a desperate attempt, perhaps foolish, but brave, to strike that killer, to avenge the damage she'd done to Selma, and to avenge himself, since he knew he was doomed.

But it was a vain attempt. If she'd been alone, perhaps, he may have hurt her, tearing the skin of her face, cutting off her lips, or even gouging an eye out. In the end, leaving her severely maimed - but she wasn’t alone. The Romanian professor didn’t reach her, because first she turned away with a shout, so that the knife plunged into where before her head had rested, on the velvet chair, and second, because Schäffer came to her aid, brandishing the bronze statue with such strength that, after drawing an arc in the air, smashed the professor’s skull with such force that he threw the little man across the table, bouncing him against the wall, until he finally fell on the floor.

Panting, Giselle got up, still pale because of the shock - she hadn’t expected that feeble and coward man to react that way. “Is he dead?” She asked to her partner, who at that time bent over the prostrate body.

“See for yourself.” Schäffer replied, and sarcastically showed her the statuette. On the bronze surface there were traces of blood, brains and hair.

Looking at the professor, he left no doubt: a part of his skull was completely crushed and his head was open, under which lay a large pool of blood.

The German threw the statue down and said: “Here we're done, pretty. We're leaving.”

But Giselle, staring at many scattered papers, said: “Not yet. Collect this and throw it into the fireplace. Burn everything - their books, papers and notes. And then destroy the guy’s computer. Don’t leave any resource that can serve them.”

“Your wish is my command, honey.”


	38. Road to Damascus

“As you know,” Marcus went on, “my Order is virtually dead - only two members survived: this old Healer with not much time left, I'm afraid, and a Fighter who never served the cause. However, here's a chance for the Order to be reborn from its ashes.”

The monks, looking more like parrots than a silent community, broke out again in whispers. No wonder. For centuries, the Lux Veritatis had been the wardens of peace and stability in the community and the world, but very few conveniently were aware of that sacrifice. The war between mortals and demons had been hidden from the world but had destroyed those who by their mortal nature were disadvantaged. Despite being Gifted they had finally succumbed under the evil creatures who outnumbered them, together with the Black Alchemist and the last Nephilim. Of course, these ones had been defeated - except for the demons always proliferating, unless the gates of the Vortex were to be closed - but at what cost?

“Did you find a new Gifted?” The parish clerk asked.

“No, Brother - the odds of that happening are improbable. The Gift passes from parents to children and rarely awakens spontaneously. What I meant is that Miss Croft is pregnant and her child is Brother Kurtis’ son.”

Suddenly a fuss broke out - some began to talk and cry at once, and Marcus went back disgusted - that place looked like a market.

“I always said that this woman was a harlot.” He heard the novice Pancratios sarcastically saying, a comment that finished the old Healer’s patience.

“Enough, Brethren!” The Healer shouted, raising his arms. The monks remained silent. “If you think I came here to gossip, you’re wrong. Christian and moral considerations and your point of view concerning this are totally irrelevant. I told you this because I want to ask you for help, because despite being a community of praying monks, you've special resources which I lack.” After a moment of silence, in which all they looked at him expectantly, he continued. “If this child survives what awaits his parents; which I wish with all my heart and we'd all pray for, he may either be born as a boy or as a girl. If it's a girl, probably nothing will change, for women have rarely inherited the Gift throughout the centuries, but if it's a boy...” His words remained floating in the air. This time no one murmured. “I think you can imagine, Brethren, what would be the son of Konstantin’s son, Gerhardt's grandson, the two most powerful Lux Veritatis the Order has ever known. Brother Kurtis is a wasted prodigy but he's chosen to be so, perhaps because he’s not aware of the great power he has, or he simply doesn’t want to use it. Such waste has been more than an insult to our heritage and the blood of our deceased. Brethren, we must not let the same happen with his child.” Marcus took two steps and spread his hard glance by the audience listening to him. Despite his old age and having spent so much time in jail, he still had his magnificent oratory, and his stern appearance helped him to command respect. “We lost the father, but we won’t lose the son! This child must mark the beginning of a new Order. Otherwise we can give up on mankind, who will fight the demons? It's a sign; he’s the expected Messiah.”

“But he’s running right now a significant risk.” The parish clerk objected. “A great threat lurks over all, on that child as well. Demons must be informed of his existence already.”

“Of course – that should be expected.” Marcus said. “And it’s likely that Lilith’s daughter saw him even before he was conceived. Nothing escapes the sight of these creatures. But we must not give up.”

Pancratios then asked to speak, and the old man allowed him despite fearing his comment: “Maybe if we lock up the harlot until the time came...”

“That’s inhuman!” A monk claimed.

“Why? Didn’t the Lux Veritatis lock up Loanna Von...?”

“Lady Loanna went to the Order willingly and asking for protection. The only one who locked up her was that wicked _Drakul_ , who...”

“Whatever, she was the same kind of harl...”

“She was _not_ _!_ Lady Loanna was raped by a Nephil...!”

“So what? It's always the same with women!”

There was a tremendous bang, and the two arguing monks silenced. Marcus had left the room and the parish clerk, embarrassed, hastened to follow him down the corridor of the yard. “A little more humility and respect is needed in this community...”

“Forgive him, Brother Healer. Pancratios is young and earnest...”

“In any case, it’s stupid even thinking about locking the Amazon up. She’s no person whom anyone can do that to. You know nothing about her.”

“I'd never support such a thing...”

“In addition, that would be useless. Those who want her child's death would find her anyway and neither walls nor doors and locks can stop them.”

“I'll talk to the _hegumenos_ and report what you told us. Don’t worry, Brother Healer, you’ll get help in return for the good you’ve done in this holy house.”

Marcus stopped at that point and, taking the old monk's shoulders, smiled and said: “Thank you, Brother. But I need help not only to fight Lilith, but also when the time comes, to take the child.”

The parish clerk looked at him, stunned. “You mean... to separate the child from his mother?”

“What else can be done? As soon as he's born, we need to take him away from his parents. He should not be raised by them. Lara's not attached to the Order’s cause, and Kurtis' a renegade. They will waste their son's gifts as Kurtis himself was wasted. That child is ours, a Gifted one, and that Gift must be trained and exploited. Pushing him away from his parents and all their bad influence, and trained in power and wisdom, he'll become the greatest of the Lux Veritatis.”

“As you wish, Brother. You're wise and you know what you're talking about.”

 

* * *

 

Beirut, which in its early years was the West’s bulwark in the East, had several luxury hotels available to tourists. In one of them Lara booked accommodation for one week for three people, and then began to deploy her diplomatic strategy so skilfully practiced and repeated in the past. The first thing was to get decent clothing to move in Beirut’s high society, which was still a colonial waste of times from when it was a French protectorate, although after the Second World War the Westerners had been expelled from there. However, there were again some privileged classes that, among noble and petty, were still anchored to the city where some lived and others sometimes went for sightseeing or holidays.

People were surprised to see two women and one man, elegantly dressed, moving easily in that environment of streets, bars, restaurants, and hotel lobbies, not included in their list of VIP people. Of course, more than one recognized the famous Lara Croft, moving so gracefully as no less was expected of her. However, all felt stunned in the presence of an attractive but obscure man, who looked uncomfortable there but knew how to behave, and a very sensual redhead, both being totally unknown.

For Maddalena wearing nice dresses and moving among big fish people wasn’t new at all, but seeing people’s eyes on her, she kept asking herself what they would think of her - Lara was always grabbing Kurtis’ arm and she followed them like a shadow.

 _Two's company, three's_ _a_ _crowd_ , the redhead kept repeating to herself as she watched Lara waving and bowing from side to side while greeting this countess or that diplomat. She'd been clever in choosing her wardrobe, which completely hid her pregnancy – not that it was very noticeable yet. But Lara knew she was going to be well looked up and down, and also her two companions, so she made sure that everything was perfect.

Also she'd managed to get in telephone contact with some helpful people but failed to be received before a week.

 

* * *

 

“What did you tell her?” That was the first thing Kurtis asked Lara when they were alone in the hotel suite.

“Who?” Lara muttered absently while checking herself in the mirror and finding, surprised, that she had dark circles under her eyes.

“Giulia, of course. When I left you looked like you two were about to kill each other, and when I returned you were getting along.”

The British explorer turned and displayed a provocative smile. “Darling, the only way to get along with her would be if she were a hundred thousand miles _away_ _from_ _my sight_ _.”_

“I thought so. What did you say, Lara?”

“Just what she needed to know.”

He shook his head. “My idea of _what_ _she_ _needs_ _to_ _know_ is maybe different from yours.”

“Maybe, but you'll have to trust me. C'mon, Kurtis, she's been attacked by a demon. We shouldn’t have her in ignorance.” And seeing he was looking askance at her, she added. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“I doubt you care about her safety that much.”

“I only told her you’re a member of an ancient order devoted to fighting demons which sometimes takes control of people for massacre. What the hell, Kurtis! I told her the truth, that’s all.”

“And suddenly you get along.”

“And suddenly she grew up a little and thought about her real problems, something much more important than eyeing your body and accidentally touching you shoulder when passing by. Why do you care, anyway?”

“Because you two are driving me crazy! I have enough without your jealousy and she with her... obsession.”

Lara smiled triumphantly and sat in an armchair. “Here's the thing. If she weren't here the problem would vanish.”

“So we kill her and drop her in a sewer.”

“You want me to go to her instead and say _h_ _ey,_ _here_ _you_ _go,_ _do_ _what_ _you_ _want_ _with_ _him?”_

“Ignore her.”

“Ha! Do you _ignore_ her, Mr. Trent?”

Kurtis remained silent.

“You feel _sorry_ for her, which is unbelievable.” Lara continued. “In fact, maybe if I weren’t here you'd want to give relief...”

“Stop.” Kurtis said, pointing at her with his index finger. “Not that way, Lara. Don’t exhaust my patience, I don’t have much left.” She said nothing, but smiled faintly. “You’re not serious, are you? Looks like you don’t deserve what you have.”

“And what do I have, Kurtis?”

“Me. Not much, I know, but it’s all I have.” Then he went out slamming the door. Lara remained silent, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

Kurtis remained in the hallway brooding for a long time. Finally, he walked to Maddalena’s room - which Lara had booked well away from theirs - and knocked on the door. “Giulia? Are you there?”

The door opened and she looked at him with astonishment. She was wearing sweatpants and her untamed hair was tied in a bun.

“Gotta talk to you.” He said very seriously.

She allowed him in and sat on the bed, visibly nervous.

“Any new trouble with the Voice?”

For a moment, she looked disappointed - what was she expecting, anyway? Then she said: “No, but I'm scared. Somehow... I feel I'm not alone.”

With a quick glance, Kurtis noted a Catholic rosary on the bedside table and a picture of...a saint? “Sorry to disappoint you, but this stuff can do little against demons.”

“And a Navajo amulet?”

“What?”

Maddalena probed around the collar of her shirt and pulled out the dreamcatcher, which dangled before their eyes.

“Where did you find that?” Kurtis exclaimed in amazement. “It's my mother’s!”

“Seriously? It was in an abandoned van, next to a destroyed hut...”

Kurtis made a bitter smile and nodded. “You got there after Schäffer's mercs took both her and Lara. It’s her amulet, and it has been with me since childhood.” She started to remove it to give it to him, but he stopped her. “Nevermind, keep it. We’ll give it back to her later. I never trusted in these things, but my mother did somehow.”

Then he glanced around - he'd just noticed something. Yes, she was right, she wasn’t alone - there was _something_ there, lurking within those four walls. Kurtis tried to break through that presence he couldn’t see or hear, only feel. _You_ _’_ _re_ _all_ _very_ _smart_ , he thought in silence, _but_ _not_ _enough_.

 _Not_ _only_ _smart_ _,_ _but_ _also_ _old,_ _very_ _old_ , the Voice replied sarcastically, _and_ _you_ _know_ _this,_ _little_ _mortal..._ _devil's wiser because he's olde._ _.._

“Kurtis? You okay?” Maddalena was looking at him with her big golden eyes. He shook his head. “She might come back. You know who.”

“No!” She cried, and clung to his arm. “Take her away from me!”

“I can do that as many times as you want, but she will come back anyway. You gotta understand...what did Lara tell you about me?” He dropped suddenly.

The redhead looked at him in silence a moment, still holding his arm, and whispered: “I already knew something about the Lux Veritatis... Daniele was obsessed with the issue after he took me as his lover. His uncle, the cardinal, had done extensive research on...things about angels and demons, prophecies about warriors...and...when I fled I stole a manuscript from him, from which I read many more things. But I could never have figured that _you_ were one of them.”

“Fortunately for me, that’s quite noticeable to the naked eye. So Monteleone taught you Latin?”

“He taught me many things, but I'd never cared much. I thought they were legends... and in any case I was terrified to talk about it.”

“So Lara told you I was a Lux Veritatis.”

“She also told me that all your kind was dead, and who'd murdered them. She spoke about Bathsheba...about her father...and of course, about that demon called Lilith. She spoke of many things, anyway...”

Kurtis shook his head. “Guess you gotta know. Y'know why you’re coming with us, don’t you?”

Maddalena looked at him with sweet eyes, so Kurtis was quick to reply: “You're in great danger. I didn't get you into this, but now I’m responsible. The Voice has chosen you as our guide - that's what she told us, using your lips.”

The sweetness of her eyes turned into horror. Her fingers sank further into his arm. “Me? Why me? What...?”

“I’ll try to find out. Demons love to brag and for better or worse, you’ve been chosen by one of the oldest. She’s lurking and will return - but you must know how to take advantage of it.”

Maddalena shook her curls in a passionate denying. “Never! I don’t want to deal with her! I just want her to leave!”

“Hear me out. You gotta take advantage of this chance. This kind of demon enjoys torture and killing, but she seems to have other intentions for you. I’ll help you, but you must stop being afraid.” He got up, and Maddalena with him, still clinging to his arm. Her grab was a painful tingling in the skin. He gently pulled her away, but only managed to get those nails stuck into his arm. “Giulia...”

“You care about me and took me with you. I want to thank you...” She was too close to him - Kurtis could feel her warm breath on his cheek and her curls brushing his face. Maddalena’s sinuous fingers curled around his neck - and she wasn’t the kind of woman a man could easily ignore.

His first thought was that she was so beautiful and at his disposal - even in love? If he wanted, whatever might happen, and then...

 _Then_ _what?_ Kurtis thought angrily. Lara was rightfully outraged. What would he think of a man who spent all day following her earnestly and touching her as often as he could? What would he think of her, if she allowed that, or if she considered to enjoy it? Wouldn’t he be angry? Wouldn’t he want to... to beat her? To beat both of them?

At the very moment her lips were brushing the corner of his mouth Kurtis firmly pushed her away, but to his surprise she resisted. “No!” Maddalena shouted. “You love me! I know!”

“What-are-you-talking-about?”

“You kissed me! You love me! But she holds you back...”

“What the...” He growled. “If you mean what happened on the Island, I barely noticed...I was hurt...”

“She holds you because she's pregnant! But she doesn’t love you, she never loved you! She's just a bitch, a fucking bitch who likes to scold you and stands between us!” For a moment Kurtis stared at her in silence, and then Maddalena flushed. “Sorry, I...”

“First, you know _nothing_ about Lara just as you know _nothing_ about me.” Kurtis replied dryly. “Second, no one asked about your judgement. If you intend to earn my affection, that’s not the best way to start.”

“Kurtis, I...”

“I told you, but you didn’t listen. You're living a dream, something that’s not real. Both Lara and I have already enough trouble to care about your whims.” Deeply upset, he let go of her arm and headed towards the door, but she went after him.

“Forgive me! I shouldn’t have said that! But...sometimes she’s so...I thought you were with her only because she's pre...”

“Here's why you know _nothing_ about Lara. She doesn’t need _anyone_ at her side - she's managed to take care of herself so far. She doesn't need me for _raising a child_ , if that’s what you mean.”

“But then...why? When I first saw you I thought you hated each other! I watched you for days - and she eluded you and glared at you each time she saw you! She despised you, I know!”

Kurtis grabbed the doorknob and pulled it, but to his surprise, the door was locked. Who'd locked it? He began to struggle, but was stuck. “Again, you've no clue.” He sputtered. “What happened then between Lara and I is not your nor anyone’s business. You’re wrong, Giulia, and have no right to judge.” He yanked the damn knob. What the hell happened? “Have you locked the door?”

“Me?” Maddalena arched her eyebrows. “I haven’t moved from your side!”

Kurtis struggled again with the knob - could it be broken? He kicked the door – suddenly feeling like destroying the whole room.

“You mean you _really_ love her?”

 _“Fucking hell!”_ He exploded, turning at once. The Italian woman backed away, frightened by the look on his face. “Will you ever listen? You’re in love with a dream, a ghost - I'm not the man you think I am! Nothing could make me leave her, get it?”

Maddalena's face changed from fear to hate. For a brief moment, Kurtis imagined himself jumping on her and grabbing her neck - but what was he thinking? He looked around. The atmosphere was laden and heavy. The door, stuck. His head pounding... _What's_ _going_ _on_ _here?_ His ears buzzed. His vision blurred.

Maddalena's voice turned shrill and began banging in his ears. “For you, you bastard, I crossed the Mediterranean! I left those who protected me and I had to sleep with disgusting men to reach you. I sold that manuscript, the most valuable thing I had, to save you. I offered myself to be tortured instead of you! What has _she_ done for you? Can you tell me? What did that woman do for you?”

Kurtis leaned against the wall, covering his face with his hands. Maddalena, believing her passionate speech was taking effect, came back to him. “You notice anything weird in this room?” He gasped, suddenly sweating.

“Nothing at all.” Maddalena said, biting her lower lip. “I never had anything in life and no one really loved me – and I'm not ugly or stupid. The only man I thought to love me was more in love with himself and his fortune. All I wanted in my life is to have someone at my side. When I saw you I thought the time had come, but she's ruined everything. I hate her.”

Kurtis had raised his eyes, looking around again, and in four strides he reached the window overlooking the terrace. With a jerk he tried to open it. It was stuck. He punched the glass.

“What's wrong with you?” She cried. “You're acting like a madman!”

“Someone has locked the room. There’s no way out.” He put his fingers to the neck of his shirt and pulled it, suffocated. “The air is loaded.”

Maddalena, suddenly smiling sweetly, came to him and began to unbutton his shirt and slowly bare his chest. “That British woman has dazzled you indeed. What can I do? She’s not even as pretty as me, but whatever - I'll have you in one way or another. If you refuse Giulia the woman, you’ll get Maddalena the whore. What Lara doesn’t know won’t hurt her...I won’t tell her, I promise...”

Before Kurtis could even avoid it, she'd unbuttoned his shirt completely and was sliding it over his shoulders and down his arms to remove it. Then he felt her lips on his chest, but as he was looking up, he noticed something on the ceiling. It was like a dark spot, small at first, next to the lamp. Then, slowly, it began to spread, like a drop of ink in water. That darkness began to branch out and spread, reaching the ends of the ceiling, and dropped slowly on the walls, branching out like a black root growing rapidly.

Maddalena's arms embraced his waist, feeling his skin moist with sweat with her fingertips, while her tongue ran down his neck, then chest, around his shoulders and down to his navel, and despite that his body was reacting to the skilful stimulation, he couldn’t look away from the blackness already reaching the ground and pouring around them, to darken the room completely.

And then the chant began...

 _Son_ _of_ _Light..._

He wanted to scream _Giulia!_ and placed his hands on her shoulders to push her away, but she laughed and began to tinker with the closure on his pants while whispering to his ear: “Let me do it... I'm good at this... I’ll make you feel like you’re in heaven...”

 _Son_ _of_ _Light..._

The whole room was black. How could she not notice _that?_

The pants closure was now undone.

 _Son_ _of_ _Light_

 _Nothing_ _can_ _be_ _done_ _against_ _us_

 _In_ _the_ _end_ _you_ _’_ _ll_ _have_ _to_ _surrender_

 _Don_ _’_ _t_ _you_ _see_ _you're alone_ _?_

Maddalena’s fingers entered inside of his pants, toured his thighs, fumbled his groin as she continued to laughing playfully...

 _Son_ _of_ _Light_

 _Your_ _grave_ _is_ _dug_

 _What_ _are_ _you_ _waiting_ _for?_

 _Don_ _’_ _t_ _you_ _challenge_ _us?_

 _Great_ _is_ _the_ _power_ _of_ _a_ _woman...!_

Suddenly she pulled herself away and smiling deviously, clutched the zippered collar of her tracksuit jacket and pulled it down, opening it. Her two breasts, white and soft, with pink nipples, emerged for she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and after forcefully removing the jacket, she threw it aside. Kurtis observed, as if in a dream, as the garment was swallowed by that fluctuating blackness which began to swell and gurgle, while that chant, made by a hissing, choppy, breathless voice, continued...

 _Son_ _of_ _Light_

 _How_ _easy_ _it_ _is_ _to_ _defeat_ _you_

 _Just_ _one_ _temptation..._

Maddalena was completely stripped now and feverishly pressed herself against him. Her skin was so warm that he disliked it, since the atmosphere was already as heavy as an anvil of lead and he had no air to breathe. Kurtis tried to push her away again, gasping for air, but he was suddenly weakened, like drained by that blackness, vast blackness. He slipped to the ground and she with him, kissing him violently. If only he could... breathe... move...

 _Son_ _of_ _Light_

 _Man_ _of_ _strong_ _spirit_

 _But_ _weak_ _of_ _flesh_

 _Look_ _what_ _you_ _do_

 _Who_ _you_ _’_ _re_ _going_ _to_ _betray_

 _Will_ _she_ _forgive_ _you?_

 _Before_ _she_ _dies..._

“Giulia!” He achieved to gasp. “The...Voice...!”

 _Before_ _she_ _dies..._

 _She_ _will_ _know_ _..._

 _And_ _cry..._

“At last we’re free!” The redhead panted, excited. “I'm finally yours!”

 _Son_ _of_ _Light_

 _Open_ _your_ _eyes_

 _Watch_ _what_ _you_ _lose_ _..._

At the time Maddalena mounted on him – was he lying on the floor? - she suddenly began to change before his eyes. Her soft and freckled skin wrinkled and shrivelled, now blackened; her breasts withered and unhooked as two dry skins; her beautiful red hair turned white and fell off, revealing an ugly bald head...her eyes, large and golden, became injected with blood and darkened. Her face features deformed so he was soon looking at a living nightmare, a monster who laughed uproariously with bizarre laughs coming from a deformed mouth and rotted gums without teeth. A claw, provided with long nails and some mutilated fingers, walked up to his face.

“No!” Kurtis yelled, and then the creature darted back and screamed aloud.

With a hop, he got up, while that thing hissed shrilly. Once again, the Gift had come to his aid when his body had failed him.

The Lux Veritatis crossed the room quickly towards the door, but suddenly the blackness was on him like an oil slick, clinging to his skin, as if someone had thrown hot metal on him. He kept crawling towards the door, groping, trying to get out while that thing shouted after him: “You’ll regret this, bastard! I'll make you pay! No one rejects me, no one! Do you hear? And less a disgrace like you!” That voice was not hers, could not be hers, as the creature that crawled towards him, stretching its hooked claws, could not be _her_.

The knob was on fire and burned his hand. It didn’t matter – he'd to get out, get out as soon as possible...

 _Son_ _of_ _Light_

 _Your_ _time_ _is_ _coming_

 _This_ _was_ _a_ _warning_

 _You_ _will_ _lose_ _what_ _you_ _love_

 _You_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _save_ _her_

 _Even_ _giving_ _your_ _life_

 _Which_ _with_ _pleasure_ _we_ _’_ _ll_ _take_ _with_ _us..._

 _..._ _To_ _the_ _darkness..._

The door burst into pieces, and the threshold reflected a bright rectangle of light, while a jet of fresh and pure air tore his fevered body drenched in sweat, coming into his lungs like an icy knife.

Kurtis took four steps, went outside and fell on his knees. A gush of blood came out through his nostrils - then the world became water around him and he fell sideways on the floor.

 

* * *

 

The surgeon smiled at Zip, who looked at him expectantly over his mask. The boy had just undergone a process of disinfection and sterilization to be allowed to access the Critical Care area. Now they were next to Selma’s bed. She looked like an ivory statue, lying motionless.

“I thought we can induce her to breathe on her own.” The surgeon said. “As you know, your friend now breathes through this ventilator. If we switch it off, she may die, but sometimes it has worked. I mean,” he added at Zip’s spiteful glance, “according to some experts, the temporary disconnection of the respirator can help to stimulate the breathing apparatus. It has been estimated that at least in 30% of cases a person leaves the comatose state after being forced to use their own occasional respiratory mechanisms...”

“Wait, wait.” Zip interrupted, feeling dizzy. “Are you telling me she’ll start breathing only if we remove that tube? Will she wake up?”

The surgeon smiled patiently. “Not sure, but this way she’s likely to start breathing on her own, and that would be an incentive to get her out of the coma. I can’t promise anything, but it's better than doing nothing.”

Zip nodded. Then the doctor came and gently tore the tape adhered to the rubber tube which plunged between Selma’s lips. He took the tube a little, and then he approached to the machine and disconnected the life support mechanism. For a few seconds that seemed to last hours, Zip stared at Selma's face, asking, pleading silently. _Princess_ _,_ _please._ _Breathe._

The surgeon looked at the clock. She was not breathing.

“Connect it again!” Zip shouted, upset.

“Not yet.”

Not breathing. Was her face turning purple? “Please! She’s choking!”

“She can’t feel anything.”

The hacker waited a little longer, but became increasingly nervous. What if then she couldn’t breathe again? What if she died? What if he'd consented to this madness and he was guilty...? “Enough! She needs air!”

“Fine.” Calmly, the surgeon reconnected the ventilator. Again the patient, who hadn’t breathed or given the slightest hint of reaction, had oxygen again.

The surgeon sighed, turned and handled a handkerchief to Zip, whispering: “You're bleeding”.

The man hadn't noticed he'd bitten his own lip - he mechanically passed the fabric across his mouth.

“C'mon. We’ll talk outside.”

Zip followed him obediently – though he was obviously fighting back tears.

“Hey, hey.” The surgeon patted him on the back. “No one has made it the first time. She's young, so there’s more chances to try, and each new time we'll be closer to success.”

“What if she suffers...or chokes...”

“None of that will happen. I told you, she’s comatose, she won’t feel anything even if pricked. Trust me, we’ll get this. OK?”

Zip sighed and looked at the blood-stained handkerchief. He should return it but then felt ashamed… he had to wash it, right?

“Keep it, son. You'll need it.”

 

* * *

 

 _He'd_ _turned into_ _a_ _spark, no_ _longer_ _a_ _man._

 _He_ _plowed_ _darkness_ _at_ _high_ _speed,_ _incandescent,_ _silent._ _There_ _was_ _no_ _air_ _whistling_ _around_ _him,_ _only_ _blackness._ _Down_ _and_ _down,_ _sinking_ _into_ _the_ _abyss,_ _through_ _layers_ _and_ _layers_ _of_ _earth,_ _air,_ _fire,_ _until_ _focusing_ _a_ _core_ _away_ _from_ _it_ _all,_ _he_ _did_ _n'_ _t_ _know_ _whether_ _he was_ _up_ _or_ _down_ _in_ _the_ _world,_ _or_ _at_ _its_ _core._

 _The_ _rock_ _opened_ _and_ _revealed_ _a_ _huge_ _cavity_ _like_ _carved_ _in_ _ivory._ _In_ _the_ _middle_ _of_ _the_ _chamber_ _,_ _a_ _stone_ _altar_ _with_ _a_ _glass_ _bowl_ _on_ _it._ _He thought to see a_ _huge_ _blue_ _flame_ _fluctuating,_ _suspended_ _over_ _the_ _bowl,_ _but_ _he_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _be_ _sure._

 _And_ _there_ _in_ _the_ _throne_ _in_ _front_ _of_ _the_ _altar,_ _a_ _tall,_ _high,_ _monstrously_ _large_ _shape,_ _was_ _lying_ _with_ _its_ _arms_ _holding_ _the_ _handles._ _Was_ _it that he_ _saw_ _it_ _huge,_ _or_ _it_ _was_ _huge_ _in_ _size?_

 _She_ _was_ _naked_ _and_ _was,_ _no_ _,_ _rather only looked like_ _a_ _woman._ _Her_ _head_ _was_ _bent down_ _upon_ _her_ _breast_ _and_ _a_ _large,_ _thick_ _mat_ _of_ _hair_ _was_ _covering_ _her_ _albino_ _face,_ _breasts_ _and_ _belly,_ _sliding_ _to_ _the_ _ground._

 _The_ _terrifying_ _and_ _gigantic_ _lady_ _raised_ _her_ _face then,_ _and_ _a_ _flash_ _of_ _white_ _light_ _shone_ _between_ _the_ _locks_ _of_ _hair._ _At_ _first_ _he_ _thought_ _that_ _her_ _face_ _was_ _all made of_ _light,_ _then_ _he_ _noticed_ _those_ _features_ _were_ _a_ _beautiful_ _but_ _rigid_ _mask. A_ _silver_ _mask._

 _A_ _breeze,_ _coming_ _from_ _who_ _knows_ _where,_ _swept_ _the_ _very_ _long_ _and_ _soft_ _hair_ _and_ _pulled_ _it_ _back,_ _exposing_ _the_ _firm_ _and_ _white_ _belly,_ _her_ _ivory_ _breasts,_ _her_ _whole_ _nudity_ _away_ _from_ _hair._ _But_ _she_ _was_ _so_ _stiff_ _that_ _she_ _seemed_ _not_ _to_ _breathe._

 _The_ _mask_ _had_ _neither_ _holes_ _for_ _eyes,_ _nor_ _for_ _nose or_ _mouth._ _Was_ _she_ _blind_ _and_ _deaf_ _?_ _Or_ _was_ _she...actually_ _not_ _breathing?_ _With_ _a_ _terrifying_ _premonition,_ _he_ _sensed_ _that_ _she_ _was perhaps_ _dead,_ _or_ _that_ _she_ _was_ _something_ _that_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _need_ _to_ _breathe..._ _or_ _see..._ _or_ _hear..._

 _Suddenly,_ _She_ _moved._ _Slowly_ _She_ _separated_ _her_ _back_ _from_ _the_ _throne_ _and_ _leaned_ _forward_ _slightly._ _At_ _the_ _moment,_ _he_ _was_ _trapped_ _by_ _Her_ _influence_ _and_ _was_ _dragged_ _towards_ _Her,_ _to_ _collapse_ _at_ _Her_ _feet._

 _The_ _mask_ _began_ _to_ _crack._ _At_ _first_ _it_ _was_ _just_ _a_ _crack,_ _then_ _the_ _whole_ _thing_ _splintered_ _and_ _began_ _to_ _fall_ _away_ _from_ _Her_ _face._ _Among_ _the_ _fractures_ _in_ _the_ _metal_ _began_ _to_ _shine_ _a_ _bright,_ _burning_ _light,_ _so_ _painful_ _that_ _he_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _continue_ _looking at_ _Her_ _and_ _turned his sight to_ _the_ _altar._

 _The_ _blue_ _flame_ _extinguished and_ _the_ _bowl_ _was_ _filled_ _with_ _a_ _strange_ _black_ _liquid._ _At_ _first_ _it_ _was_ _a_ _dark_ _puddle,_ _growing,_ _and_ _growing,_ _until_ _it_ _overflowed_ _the_ _boundaries_ _of_ _the_ _crystal,_ _and_ _then_ _keep_ _on_ _overflowing,_ _dripping_ _on_ _the_ _altar,_ _spreading_ _increasingly and_ _spilling_ _over_ _the_ _marble_ _table_ _and_ _splashing_ _the_ _ground. It_ _was_ _blood..._

 _A_ _crunching_ _metal_ _and_ _its_ _subsequent_ _patter_ _startled_ _him._ _The_ _mask_ _had_ _crashed_ _into_ _the_ _ground,_ _and_ _light_ _flooded_ _the_ _chamber_ _to_ _make_ _all_ _disappear_ _around..._

 _He_ _tried_ _to_ _lift_ _his_ _eyes..._ _he_ _tried_ _to_ _look..._ _he_ _should..._ _look_ _at..._ _Her..._

 _But_ _when_ _he_ _managed_ _to_ _stare_ _at_ _the_ _face_ _behind_ _the_ _mask,_ _he_ _felt_ _as_ _filled_ _with_ _immense_ _pain_ _in_ _the_ _inside,_ _could_ _not_ _resist_ _looking_ _at_ _such_ _supernatural_ _creature,_ _and_ _burst_ _into_ _a_ _thousand_ _pieces._

 

* * *

 

Lara leaned over Kurtis and put a hand on his forehead - he was burning.

The fuss caused by the breaking of the door and him fainting in the middle of the hall had attracted lots of onlookers. Lara had taken advantage of this to get help to lift his heavy body and lay him in the bed of their suite, and then rejected all kind offers to take him to an hospital, provided he was still unconscious.

What everyone took for a seizure was for Lara something different, though she didn’t understand. She knew Kurtis wasn't prone to any kind of seizure, and that the blood flowing from his nose was rather a result of stress than anything else.

In any case, Lara was sure he shouldn’t be taken to hospital. That would only waste their time. She wished the old Marcus was there – he would identify that phenomenon and awake Kurtis, but he wasn’t there and she wouldn’t waste time – she'd deal with this alone.

Having checked he was now breathing well and had stopped bleeding, Lara exited to the hallway. There she found a disoriented hotel employee, collecting with absolute astonishment, one by one, hundreds of splinters which had been the door of Maddalena’s suite. “How's your husband, ma'am?” He muttered, looking, impressed, how those wood chips melted in his hand.

“He's not my husband, but he's alright.” Lara headed towards the threshold, with door fragments still hanging from it, but the employee then said: _“A_ _lright?_ Damn! Can’t imagine how anyone could be _alright_ after crashing against a door like this. He should have cracked his skull!”

“I'm sorry he broke the door. I’ll bear the cost, of course.”

The young man laughed. “ _Broke?_ He _shattered_ it! Even the best sumo wrestler wouldn’t be able to do _that_ to a door. I can’t explain this!”

 _Neither_ _can_ _I_ , thought Lara as she weaved through the remains of the door and scanned the redhead’s suite with a critical eye. At first glance she saw Kurtis’ shirt and belt thrown into a corner, and with them, the scattered clothing of a woman.

Lara felt a wave of heat that lit her face and clenched her teeth. She would have to be dumb to not immediately see what this meant. Kurtis didn’t seem to have run away from Maddalena’s beautiful curves, of course - so from what had he run away?

In four strides she reached the bathroom door and pounded on it. “Giul... Giulia?” Lara wasn't used to her real name, for her she was still Maddalena, the prostitute. There was heavy silence. “Giulia! I know you're there! Open!”

The employee had stopped collecting splinters of wood and looked interested at the scene. Lara's patience ran out. “If you make me break this door,” she hissed, “you pay for it.”

Finally, the bolt creaked across and Lara hurried to open it. When entering she saw Maddalena curled back on the bathroom floor, next to the tub, wrapped in a short bathrobe and a strange glance in her eyes.

Lara was quick to close the door behind her to prevent the employee’s peering. She folded her arms and looked sternly at the redhead, who was still staring at her. “What happened?” The British explorer asked.

Maddalena slowly raised her eyes. She'd her hair tangled, and if the scattered underwear wasn't enough proof, Lara noticed she was naked under her half-untied robe. “I don’t know...”

“Don’t lie to me!” Lara took a deep breath - she was _not_ going to lose control. She wouldn’t be upset by some lying clothes, nor allow this slut to force her to make a sad spectacle.

“I haven’t lied to you.”

“You really think, Giulia Manfredi, I was born yesterday? You think so?”

Maddalena looked away to a side and muttered vaguely: “No idea what you're talking about...”

Lara rushed at her and grabbed her arm - she was quite strong and managed to lift her by a single pull. In doing so, her bathrobe opened and although this shouldn’t have mattered, Maddalena had a fit of shame and tried to cover her breasts and the triangle of reddish hair.

“Bet you weren’t trying to cover yourself when _he_ was here, right?” Lara hissed in her ear.

Maddalena broke free of her grip and fell back against the wall, fastening the bathrobe and casting a look of resentment. “Well, yes,” She admitted. “I tried to seduce him. I wanted to sleep with him. And maybe you should know he didn’t seem _unpleased_ with the idea. Men are so fickle, right? One minute they recite poems of love...and the next they're in the arms of another woman.”

Lara's mouth twisted into a sinister smile – oh dear, if she only could punch her in the face...but apparently that's what she wanted. No, she was going to prove that Lara Croft couldn’t be so easily provoked. “I have no time to waste on your nonsense. Kurtis' is unconscious and he’s not waking up. What have you done to him?”

Maddalena looked concerned then. “I did nothing... except that. I was with him when...he began to sweat, and left me screaming out the door... which he broke...I don’t know how...”

Lara went away from her, opened the bathroom door and examined the room – but there was nothing special, except that the air was somewhat loaded. _Obviously_ , she thought angrily, _the_ _atmosphere's_ _heated._ _“_ If he doesn’t get well,” she added, “I’ll blame you.”

“Why would I hurt him?” Maddalena protested. “I love him. I've done a lot for him.”

 _“_ _Of_ _course_.” Lara said, unable to keep a note of sarcasm. She approached the scattered clothes and picked up Kurtis’ shirt and belt. At the end of the day, they were expensive and she wasn’t going to leave them on the ground. Before heading out the door - the employee was gone - Lara turned and, pointing a finger at the redhead, said: “If I find out you've had something to do with this, start to pray. I can deal with you walking around him, but you won't go further.”

 

* * *

 

Kurtis opened his eyes slowly. A tear slid down from the corner of his eye across his temple, to dive into his hair. He wanted to raise his hand to catch it, but it seemed surprisingly heavy. Other fingers, slender and agile, wiped his tear, and turning his head slightly – which hurt him enough to burst, he saw Lara.

A mixed feeling of love, pain and guilt crossed his mind. Then, an unspoken fear about what she might have thought of seeing him half-naked and with his pants unzipped in a room with a naked woman – but fear didn’t last. What was done was done, and in fact he hadn’t done _anything_. But he almost had... or maybe not? It was too painful to think, with his head pounding... “Lara...” He muttered.

“Hush. You’re in our room. How are you?”

Finally, he managed to raise his hand and touched his head. “I hurt all over... like I got the shit beaten out of me. What happened?”

“I was hoping you'd tell me, as Maddalena has been unable, or _unwilling_ , to tell me much.” The angry glance in her eyes confirmed she knew _that_. And how couldn’t she know? Even a fool would've figured it out, and she was terribly clever.

“I’m sorry, Lara.” He mumbled, sitting up. “I went to see her to sort things out...to solve the situation...”

“...and the situation cast on you.” Lara added mockingly, but stopped when she saw his wounded glance.

“You're upset, of course, but what it looks like is... different from what actually happened.”

“More than upset, I'm spooked. If you'd had sex with Maddalena, I would've killed you, but instead you've passed out while bleeding after crushing a door. What happened? Tell me now!”

Kurtis ran his hand across his wet forehead. The rest of his body, arms, chest and back, were also watered with sweat. “Giulia got angry and started arguing, and suddenly the air became heavy and I felt sick. I got nervous and tried to get out, but everything was closed, the door, the windows were jammed. She seemed not to notice anything was wrong. Suddenly my strength left me, and she leaned over me and began to undress me, and then she undressed herself. I tried to reject her, I swear this by what I love the most, Lara, which is you... but I didn’t because I suddenly felt so weak that I couldn’t even raise my arm, and then the ectoplasm and the chant...”

“Wait a minute... Ectoplasm?”

He nodded. “Y'know what that is?”

“I've heard of it, but...is it a ghost?”

“The residue of a demon or spirit, which drains energy and changes environment. Only I could see it and the damn thing almost killed me. Then... I fainted and had a vision.”

Lara raised his hand: “Did that ectoplasm hurt Maddalena?”

“No.”

“Ha!”

“You can’t suspect her.”

“Why not?”

“She was terrified of the idea of a demon using her. She wouldn't pact with them.”

“In exchange for having sex with you? _Of_ _course_ she’d pact!” Lara jumped out of bed. There was a strong determination on her face. “Guess now you’re going to support her.”

Kurtis slowly shook his head. “She said some stuff I won’t forgive.”

“Don’t tell me. I’m sure they were about me.”

“Anyway, why would she pact with the Voice if I was gonna be hurt?”

Lara stood a moment in silence - then she added: “No more fighting, at least until I've proof. We can’t waste a second on this nonsense. Our Syria contacts will arrive tomorrow and will help us reach Damascus and find that temple. Until then, you must rest – and in the meanwhile, I’ll keep an eye on our lovely redhead. You may know a lot about demons, Kurtis, and that's something I won’t argue. But I know much more about women... and what we’re capable of when we’re in love."

 

* * *

 

The sirens arrived like a flash, then left - the brief flash of red light awakened the half-asleep Giselle. She blinked and yawned, running a hand through her hair. Amid the gloom of the room, she saw the robust Schäffer, naked, approaching the curtain and pulling it away slightly to scrutinize the already empty street.

“What time is it?” The scientist muttered.

“Police sirens.” The bully noted, ignoring her. “They should have already found the body.”

“For the hour,” she added, casting a lazy glance at the digital clock on the bedside, “he surely looks awful. Far better.”

Schäffer dropped the curtain and turned to his sleepy mate - his eyes displayed a hard glance. “How can you worry about that now?” He scolded her. “We’re being too reckless. Surely that old Navajo bitch and the Indian brat have already identified you. Maybe now the police have our pictures hanging all over the town! We can’t stay here any longer, unless you want to see the sky behind bars for the rest of your life.”

Giselle got up slowly and stretched, as if she didn’t give a shit the police might be looking for her. “We aren't done yet.”

“Dammit, Giselle! You killed the girl and the nerd. Tell me, what harm can an oldster and a kid who doesn't speak English cause us now? They are so utterly insignificant – it's a complete waste of time killing them!”

“Guess you're right. But I'm not satisfied yet - everyone must pay.”

“Stupid to stay here any longer.” He walked up to her and placed his knee on the bed. Seeing him coming, she made a gesture of rejection.

Who could understand her? It was not even half an hour ago she'd let him make love to her with total submission, and now she resisted - but he easily beat her strength holding her wrists and kissing her on the mouth with all roughness. She turned her head in disgust. “Monster! You've bitten me!” And she touched her swollen lip.

“Bite me back then, darling.” He smiled. “But let's go. My men have reported much more interesting data.”

“More than the Lux Veritatis and his bitch on the road to Damascus? If I have to give up the oldster and the kid, I’ll go for them, no matter what my wayward daughter says.”

“Even more. Before going for them, as we'll go if my mistress commands it, we’ll stop to deal reckoning with the Healer.”

Giselle raised her eyebrows. “The old Marcus? Is he not with them?”

“Apparently, he insisted on staying in Meteora’s monastery. And you know, not only him but all that bloody community of monks have collaborated with our hated enemies...”

The blonde's smile was widening - then she contorted it into a grimace. “They helped that bitch kill Karel.”

“And Gunderson who, relatively speaking, was a fine leader. We still have many men and the surprise factor. Tell me, pretty doctor, what’s more appealing now?”

Giselle smiled again.

 

* * *

 

“Ma'am...” Radha stammered, struggling with that not yet familiar language. “Ma'am, please...”

But Marie was not listening - nestled next to the wall, and with her face turned towards it, she was crying with all the helplessness of the world. Around her came and went different police officers who'd been following the withdrawal of fire-fighters. They were removing the charred remains of books, records, documents...even Zip’s computer had been destroyed.

But it wasn’t for this Marie was crying, but for who was lying under a blanket of plastic, with his head crushed, amid the ruined library. “We shouldn’t have left him alone...we shouldn’t have left him alone!”

So the Navajo woman wept and wailed for hours, stroking Radha's black hair. The Indian girl didn’t understand what they could have possibly done to help Ivanoff, but still lamented Marie’s pain and the death of this man whom she hadn’t come to know much, but who'd always smiled at her.

And more after knowing it was the work of that horrible woman who had cut her fingers off without flinching. Radha wanted to hate her as much as Marie and mourn the professor with her, but she was too stunned and exhausted to react.

Ivanoff's body was lifted and taken away. Then the two women insisted on following him. Now it was Radha who was holding Marie's arm - she was absent and crestfallen. After a while, the Navajo woman overcame her sorrow and gritted her teeth.

“Did you know him?” Radha stammered.

“Just as much as you knew him, child!” Marie lamented again. “But he was a good man - a good man! These things should not happen. Something like this should never happen...” But according to her erratic glance, Radha guessed she wasn’t talking only about Ivanoff’s murder. And remembering what Lara had tried to explain the last few days she'd been with her, the image of a forest of crosses appeared before her eyes, and she shuddered.

“We've released the two suspect’s sketches, put together by the descriptions you’ve provided, Mrs. Cornel.” She heard the inspector’s voice. “We've also made contact with our colleagues in the Czech Republic... and... it seems you were right. We owe you an apology. This will weigh on our consciences, for the death of this man could've been avoided.”

Marie took a deep breath and lifted her reddened eyes. “Enough chatting. What must be done now is to catch that bitch and her followers. There's no more we can do for Vlad.”

He nodded. “We’ll start a search around Brasov and widen the circle as we move forward. They can’t have gone very far yet, so we expect to find them.”

When he left, leaving them alone in the office, Radha bowed and took the wrinkled hand of the Navajo woman. “Ma'am...we should tell _bahanji_ Lara about this...she must know what’s going on. Maybe they will be safer.”

Slowly, mechanically, Marie nodded.

 

* * *

 

Maddalena was sitting alone in the dark, still half naked, half wrapped with the bathrobe - a deaf and blind anger was devouring her from the inside.

_Giulia..._

There it was again. _Maledizione_. Cursed be her a thousand times.

“Out of here!” She hissed. “Go to hell!”

Was she laughing?

 _I've_ _been_ _there_ _since_ _immemorial_ _times._ _But_ _now_ _you_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _kick_ _me_ _out,_ _beautiful_ _Giulia,_ _I'm_ _part_ _of_ _you..._

“Get out, spawn. I curse you.”

 _Giulia,_ _why_ _do_ _you_ _hate_ _me?_ _I_ _only_ _mean_ _to_ _make_ _you_ _happy..._ _Do_ _you_ _see?_ _I_ _haven_ _’_ _t_ _mastered_ _your_ _beautiful_ _body..._ _I_ _respected_ _you..._

“You haven’t given to me whom I loved.”

There was a heavy silence.

 _I_ _gave_ _him_ _to_ _you..._ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _I_ _deliver him to_ _you_ _helpless?_ _Haven_ _’_ _t_ _you_ _had_ _him_ _in_ _your_ _arms?_

“You scared him. You hurt him. I hate you.”

 _It_ _was_ _compulsory_ _to_ _use brute_ _force._ _He_ _’_ _s_ _a_ _very_ _powerful_ _Lux_ _Veritatis,_ _we_ _can_ _’_ _t_ _cuddle_ _with_ _him._ _It_ _was_ _necessary..._

“I almost had him, he was almost mine, just for me, but you've ruined everything.”

 _How_ _ungrateful_ _you are,_ _Giulia!_ _Who_ _but_ _I_ _have_ _delivered_ _him_ _on_ _a_ _silver_ _platter_ _to_ _you?_

“You made him run away. Leave me alone!”

There was silence. Had she gone? Trembling, she crawled to the bedside table and took Saint Lucy's holycard, her beloved protectress. She kissed her.

 _That_ _slain_ _virgin_ _has_ _no_ _power_ _against_ _us._ _She_ _’_ _s_ _happy_ _wandering_ _beside_ _the_ _One_ _for_ _whose cause_ _she_ _was_ _slaughtered_ _so_ _long_ _ago._ _Instead,_ _Giulia,_ _I'm_ _with_ _you._ _Don_ _’_ _t_ _waste_ _your_ _prayers._

“You made him hate me and she now suspects me.”

 _Things_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _go_ _as_ _expected,_ _Giulia,_ _that's_ _all._ _He_ _’_ _s_ _strong_ _and_ _powerful,_ _even_ _for_ _a_ _being_ _like_ _me._ _He,_ _stupid mortal,_ _doesn_ _’_ _t_ _know_ _how_ _powerful_ _he_ _is._ _Better_ _if_ _he_ _continues_ _ignoring_ _it._ _The_ _next_ _time_ _he_ _will_ _be_ _yours._

“I should... I should tell him that you're here. Make him expel you.”

 _My_ _naive_ _Giulia...he_ _already_ _knows._ _He's_ _noticed_ _my_ _presence,_ _which_ _hurts_ _him_ _like_ _a_ _knife._ _And_ _as_ _he_ _increasingly_ _becomes_ _weaker_ _when_ _fighting,_ _I_ _’_ _m_ _stronger._ _No_ _one_ _can_ _kick_ _me_ _out,_ _beautiful_ _Giulia._

The redhead looked at the sweet Saint in the picture. She'd dreamed a thousand times of enjoying the innocence and simplicity of the martyr - and instead, she was a prostitute who talked with demons...

 _There_ _’_ _s_ _no_ _good_ _or_ _evil._ _Nothing_ _is_ _as_ _it_ _seems._ _Stop_ _looking_ _at_ _her._ _She_ _died_ _so_ _long_ _ago,_ _but_ _you're_ _alive._ _She_ _’_ _s_ _on_ _the_ _altar,_ _but_ _you_ _’_ _ll_ _get_ _a_ _better_ _reward._

The holycard was burning. With a cry, Maddalena released it, and watched in horror as the flames consumed the fragile paper, reducing it to ashes, and then disappeared.

 _I've_ _made_ _a_ _promise._ _He_ _will_ _be_ _yours - and_ _you_ _will_ _trample_ _her_ _face._ _When_ _all_ _is_ _finished,_ _when_ _you_ _have_ _accomplished_ _what_ _I_ _ask from you,_ _he_ _will_ _be_ _yours._ _He_ _’_ _ll_ _be_ _docile_ _and_ _pleasant_ _to_ _you,_ _like_ _a_ _slave._ _And_ _he_ _will_ _love_ _you_ _in_ _absolute_ _despair._

 

 _“Pater_ _noster_ _qui_ _is_ _in_ _caelis sanctificetur_ _nomen_ _tuum. Adveniat_ _regnum_ _tuum. Fiat_ _voluntas_ _tua_ _sicut_ _in_ _caelo_ _et_ _in_ _terra. Panem_ _nostrum_ _quotidianum_ _da_ _nobis_ _hodie_ _et_ _dimitte_ _nobis_ _debita_ _nostra sicut_ _et_ _nos_ _dimittimus_ _debitoribus_ _nostris. Et_ _ne_ _nos_ _inducas_ _in_ _tentationem s_ _ed_ _liberanos_ _a_ _malo. Amen.”_ Concluded the old cardinal, barely rising to the pew where he'd been praying late into the night.

He crossed himself and began his slow transition to the living room. His legs hurt so much...he was too old and needed to rest, but the days continued to happen, slowly, creeping, extending his bad old age, while God was reluctant to take him to Himself.

A chill of terror ran through his aching joints when he saw a figure long and slim sitting rigidly in his chair. His hand, trembling, shot to the switch and lit the room. The woman who was sitting there didn’t even blink. If that was a woman...shaking, the cardinal fumbled his cassock seeking the scapular, because that creature with such supernatural beauty _couldn_ _’_ _t_ be a woman.

“I'm not an angel.” She gently replied, as if she'd read his mind. “Something of angel I've in my veins, but not much. Enough to come here tonight, to give you eternal rest.” She stretched a long arm, wrapped in a white wide sleeve, and told cardinal to have a seat near her.

But he didn’t move. “If you are a spawn of Satan...I command you to leave this Holy See.”

“I won’t take long in abandoning it, but you will too. If you don’t want to take a seat, Ercole Monteleone, you'll remain standing, but then when you appear before your God, you can’t tell Him a Nephilim didn’t pay due respect to an old dying mortal.”

The gnarled old fingers hooked in the scapular. He tugged it nervously and dropped it on his chest, at her sight.

“At least you’re not trying to scare me with a crucifix.” She murmured, and then said. “I guess the Amazon, or even your wealthy nephew, told you about me.”

“My nephew's dead, Bathsheba of the _Nephili_ , as you already know.” The cardinal murmured sadly.

She nodded slowly. She kept an arm stretched along the sofa, but then the cardinal captured a small bundle wrapped in cloth resting on her lap.

“He was murdered by Lara Croft - the same woman who came to ask you for information. Your nephew's corpse was still unburied when you paved her way in this very room.” Bathsheba couldn’t have been crueller with her comment - however she spoke with a such sweet and calm voice that she seemed a mother talking to her child.

The cardinal grabbed the back of a chair so as not to faint and clenched his lips. Then he said: “I don’t know if female Nephilim who once trod the earth had that bittersweet contrast of beauty and cruelty. Your father wasn’t like that. He was _just_ cruel. Perhaps because he was a male, but I can’t tell.”

A satisfied smile surfaced Bathsheba’s lips. The cardinal shivered again to see her little white teeth. “I thought I'd have to force you to tell this, Your Eminence.”

“How I met your father? Cursed be the day I did. I haven’t had any peace since that day. The Lord has turned His face away from me.” The cardinal took two steps and, exhausted, sat in the chair he'd previously refused, making a gesture of pain when his swollen joints doubled. She looked at him with indifference, without helping him to sit. “Did you come to know about that, is that right?” He sighed.

“I guess you didn't talk so brazenly and with such familiarity to him.” She hissed and went back on the couch, like a threatened snake.

“I’m old. I can’t fear anything at this point...except God’s judgement.” He glanced at the fireplace. It was cold and his bones froze of pure pain. While still thinking about how tiring it would be up to go on again, the fireplace suddenly came on and began to burn alone, generating light and heat more quickly and with more intensity.

Bathsheba’s gleaming green eyes reflected the flames. “Tricks like this are easy for us.” She whispered. “I’m expecting harder tests.”

“And who's about to test you?” Ercole Monteleone replied. “If you wanted, you could send the demons to get you if you fall, just as the angels would've saved our Lord Jesus Christ if He'd asked them to do so.”

“I won’t engage in theological disputes,” Bathsheba said, “but as your Messiah did what he did to pass a test without which he couldn't be dignified, I must expect the same.” She bowed slightly to the cardinal, and a lock of soft black hair slid down on her breast. The old man forced himself to look away. “You knew my father - the one who called himself Joachim Karel. Why did he come to you?”

He was still staring into the flames. “I guess I've no choice but to answer...”

“The sooner you do, the sooner your pain will end.”

 _“Santa Madonna!”_ He cried. “You’ve come to kill me, then.”

The Nephilim arched her well drawn eyebrows: “Kill you? I don't need to kill you, old man. I'm here to announce you won’t pass this night.” She gathered the folds of her dress. “I've been busy preparing for the test that awaits me, but I need you to tell me what you know about my father - why he came and what he said. I need his guidance, but he died, and all I have is an amorous woman who knows only to mourn him.”

The cardinal made a face. “Why don’t you ask your awful goddess?”

Bathsheba smiled coldly. “Would you ask your God about Judas Iscariot?”

Monteleone frowned. “I don’t see why I should help you.”

“Because like it or not, it’s the last thing you’ll do. Otherwise, don’t help me, I can get that information differently, but in that case, you won’t have a good death.”

Ercole Monteleone didn’t seem to listen - he looked at the flames, absorbed. “I’ve sinned...listening to that demon was sin. I was young and ambitious, and I wanted to know. He'd existed since the dawn of time...he knew things nobody knew and had seen many eras and empires pass, rise and fall...I fell under his temptation.”

“Tell me about it.”

“He called himself Joachim Karel, but it wasn’t his real name. All _Nephili_ have a mortal name and a holy name. You were called Bathsheba by your mother.” He said looking at her. “Did your Lady give a Holy Name to you?”

“You know a lot. You will also know that name, being sacred, is also secret, and no mortal should know.”

“True...” He remained oblivious, staring at Bathsheba’s wrapped bundle. What was there?

Then he looked away, and started his story.

 

 _At_ _first_ _she_ _thought_ _it_ _was_ _a_ _dream - then_ _the_ _fog_ _lifted_ _slightly,_ _and_ _she_ _noticed_ _a_ _figure_ _before_ _her._

 _She_ _was_ _surprised_ _to_ _see_ _that_ _she_ _was_ _Selma,_ _stiff_ _and_ _silent_ _in_ _front_ _of_ _her._ _The Turkish girl was standing_ _with_ _arms_ _at_ _sides,_ _her_ _black_ _hair_ _loose_ _in_ _the_ _back,_ _some locks_ _falling_ _over_ _her_ _shoulders._ _She_ _looked_ _at_ _her_ _with_ _her_ _dark,_ _expressive_ _eyes_ _wide_ _open,_ _staring_ _at_ _her_ _as_ _if_ _surprised_ _or_ _frightened._

 _And_ _the_ _strange_ _thing_ _is_ _that_ _she_ _was_ _dressed...with_ _a_ _kind_ _of_ _white_ _nightgown...or_ _was_ _it_ _a_ _hospital_ _gown?_ _It_ _fell_ _straight_ _as_ _a_ _starched_ _fabric,_ _but_ _ended_ _above_ _the_ _knees._

 _“_ _Selma?_ _” S_ _he_ _stammered_ _. “_ _Is_ _that_ _you?”_

 _In_ _trying_ _to_ _take_ _a_ _step_ _towards_ _her,_ _she_ _noticed_ _something_ _cold_ _underfoot,_ _and_ _saw_ _that_ _she_ _was,_ _barefoot,_ _on_ _a_ _surface_ _of_ _dark_ _water._ _The_ _slight_ _waves_ _also_ _licked_ _Selma_ _’_ _s_ _bare_ _feet,_ _but_ _she_ _kept_ _looking at her,_ _very_ _stiff._

 _Suddenly,a_ _gentle_ _breeze began to blow and_ _shook_ _the_ _girl's_ _dark_ _hair._ _Lara_ _moved_ _a_ _little_ _more_ _thoroughly,_ _stunned_ _by_ _not_ _noticing_ _a_ _bottom_ _under_ _her_ _feet,_ _and_ _saw_ _that_ _Selma's_ _lips_ _were_ _blue_ _and_ _her_ _skin_ _was_ _covered_ _with_ _a_ _thin_ _film_ _of_ _sweat._

 _“_ _Selma!” She yelled_ _again_ _. “_ _What_ _is_ _it?_ _Are_ _you_ _okay?”_

 _For_ _a_ _moment,_ _even_ _the_ _whisper_ _of_ _the_ _breeze_ _stopped._ _And_ _then_ _Lara_ _saw_ _her_ _moving_ _her_ _lips,_ _gently_ _at_ _first,_ _then_ _frantically._

 _But_ _no_ _sound_ _came_ _from_ _them._

 _She_ _went_ _running_ _towards_ _her._ _The_ _girl's_ _status_ _upset_ _her._ _She_ _kept_ _moving_ _her_ _lips_ _as_ _if_ _talking,_ _and_ _suddenly_ _her_ _rigid_ _face_ _transmuted_ _into_ _a_ _mask_ _of_ _anguish._

 _“_ _Selma!_ _Can_ _’_ _t_ _hear_ _you!_ _What_ _are_ _you_ _saying?”_

 _She_ _grabbed_ _her_ _by_ _the_ _shoulders._ _The_ _touch_ _was_ _real,_ _firm,_ _but_ _she_ _was_ _cold_ _as_ _a_ _corpse._ _She_ _shook_ _her_ _vigorously,_ _almost_ _angrily,_ _but_ _she_ _kept_ _moving_ _her_ _lips...without_ _saying_ _anything..._

 

* * *

 

She woke with a scream. Then she sat up suddenly, felt a faint, and when she turned almost slipped off the bed.

Kurtis held her. “Okay, okay! It's over.”

Her trembling hand fumbled the night stand and switched on the lamp. She looked around and saw Kurtis blinking at the sudden light. “You scared me to death.” He gasped. “What happened to you?”

Lara laid down, removed some strands of sweaty hair from her forehead and muttered: “Nothing. A silly dream.” She turned off the light, not wanting him to see his pale face. Why was a stupid nightmare able to upset her like that? Was she weakening?

Kurtis’ strong arms surrounded her waist, and she felt his warm breath on her neck. “Tell me.”

“Why?”

“You're alive because I told you my vision, remember?”

Lara smiled and unconsciously touched the still fresh scar on her chest.

“I'm not a Lux Veritatis. My dreams don’t predict anything.”

Kurtis smiled in the darkness. “Tell me.” He repeated softly.

Lara sighed. “I saw Selma yelling, but she didn’t emit any sound. It was weird...but I'm telling you, it's just silly.”

His fingers reached for her arm gently, feeling her skin - his extraordinarily warm hands. “We can contact her if you want - to calm you down.”

“I'm not nervous...” But her body didn’t seem to agree - she was shivering.

Kurtis put one arm around her waist and the other on her chest and hugged her, giving her heat.

Why was she anguished over just a dream? There was nothing particular in it...

 

* * *

 

Maddalena ran her finger across the picture frame and went down. Her eyes immediately noticed the twins - two tall men in their forties, blond and ruddy skinned, cheerfully discussing while sitting on the sofas in the hotel reception. All tourists who passed by stared at them, so alike they were one to each other.

Lara went downstairs, passed next to the redhead and went directly towards the twins, who seeing her rose in unison. They were a strange couple.

“Lara!” One exclaimed.

“You look so pretty!” Said the other making a mocking bow.

“Giulia, Kurtis.” The British explorer said, looking at the ex-legionnaire, who had just come down after Maddalena. “Meet William and Wilbur Hawks, from Harvard University. Their specialty is Phoenician archaeology

The two men smiled. “Don’t try to figure out which is William and which is Wilbur.” One added in a festive tone. “Even our mother's not sure yet.”

“Wait, there’s a way. Wilbur's gay.” The other replied.

“Indeed, sometimes I make use of my brother.” Then the first one added.

“Don’t believe him - he’s a liar.”

Kurtis wasn't sure about what was weirder – those men behaving like brats or both having the same specialty in life.

“William and Wilbur have a very crude humor.” Lara interjected.

“We learned it from you, sister!” Mocked one of them - was he Wilbur, or William? It was impossible to distinguish them.

Fortunately, right then the restaurant manager showed up to tell them their table was ready.

 

* * *

 

“So Lilith’s temple, huh?” One of them – possibly William, said later. “You ask too much. This archaeological dig has been closed for ten years.”

“Under what circumstances and for what reasons?” Lara asked.

The ruddy archaeologist made a gesture of weariness. “You know...it's always the same. Syria is a much-requested place by the Israelites...I don’t know how long they will keep on – and they've never been really fond of foreigners, and even less people like us who’re involved in removing a past with which both Jews and Muslims don’t identify with at all.”

“Really?” Lara's eyebrows rose. “Is not Lilith a deity emanating from the Jewish tradition?”

Wilbur laughed. “Sister, if orthodox Jews heard what you’ve just said, they would stone you for blasphemy. Jews and Muslims are monotheists, as everyone knows, and they won’t take jokes about it very well. Lilith was a _Babylonian_ goddess.”

“Also Adam’s first wife - and now you’ll tell me Adam is also a _Babylonian_ character, right?”

The archaeologist's eyes darkened. “I know where you want to go, sister. In short, what my brother wanted to say is that...technically there’s no such temple of Lilith. The enclosure we dug so long ago is a Phoenician temple... and as such, is devoted to Astarte.”

“You're kidding, right?” Lara laughed.

At that time, Maddalena gently bowed towards the twin beside her, who was William, and asked: “Excuse my ignorance, but I'm not really educated in goddesses and myths. What's the difference between Lilith and Astarte?”

“There’s none at all!” Lara jumped. “They’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Darling,” Wilbur cleared his throat, “don’t be prosaic. Astarte was the mother goddess of fertility, war, and the supreme deity of all Phoenicians. As such...”

“... she has exactly the same role as the Lilith of Babylon. They’re the same goddess, Wilbur!” Lara insisted. “A syncretism, an association of two figures coming from a triple source, Hebrew, Phoenician, and Babylonian. Lilith's Astarte, and Astarte's Lilith.”

William looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think the Phoenicians would appreciate your assimilation, but anyway... what I want to say is that this temple, Lara, is named after Astarte. It’s a place of worship for the goddess mother... Are you sure that's what you seek?”

“We’re looking for the entrance to Hell.” A sinister voice added suddenly.

The twins stared at Kurtis, who'd just spoken. Maddalena looked at him tenderly.

“Hell, man.” Wilbur mumbled. “I thought a cat had got your tongue, and now you just say that. Very funny.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” The aforementioned hissed, arching an eyebrow.

Lara smiled wistfully. “Did you ever see anything unusual in that excavation?” She added.

“Unusual? What the hell do you mean?” William growled. “It was a huge and beautiful temple, sadly reduced to ruins. Then those fundamentalist bastards came and expelled us at gunpoint. They blew up all the digging... all our work...” He clenched his fist. “They destroyed what was my life and my brother's - all our hopes and dreams. And all over shitty politics!”

Seeing him so frustrated, Lara remembered Selma, whose work also had been destroyed. _Selma..._ _who_ _shouted_ _at_ _her,_ _unable_ _to_ _speak..._ She shuddered. “They might not have destroyed it for political reasons.”

“Of course! They hate Western people and our way of digging up the past.”

“You sure you didn’t see anything unusual in that temple?”

“I did.” Who'd spoken was Wilbur, his delicate face darkening slightly.

“What do you mean?” William muttered. “Don’t listen to this lunatic!”

“You, Brother, can't see beyond your nose.” He muttered in reply. “But I did see _something_.”

“Nonsense!”

But the other had already turned towards Kurtis. “He knows what I mean. You said the entrance to Hell.” Wilbur laughed. “Yeah, yeah ...you're not kidding. Neither am I. The Gates of Hell!”

Maddalena sat back and looked at her hands. They trembled. She tightly folded them. That discussion was insane.

“You see ghosts everywhere, Wilbur.” William seemed upset. “It was just an ordinary temple, Lara. A half-buried structure on earth, with a large pit for offerings, but that's all, sorry, and nothing remains. They destroyed it, my friend, so there's nothing you can work with. No tunnels, no secret galleries, no traps, no treasures shining in the darkness. Nothing for you, Tomb Raider.”

But Lara stared at Kurtis, who in turn stared at Wilbur. She couldn’t be more thrilled - something told her that Kurtis hadn’t opened his mouth for free. He never said anything if it wasn’t worth saying it. It was as if he'd seen or read something in Wilbur’s eyes or mind, and was trying somehow to extract that information. Looking away from him, she caught Maddalena’s resentful and envious eyes – she, somehow, wanted to participate in this intimacy... but it was theirs alone.

“Through the study of certain sources,” Lara said then, “very vague, yes, but valuable, we concluded that there’s something in that area... I don’t know how to define it... perhaps an entry, or link to an alternate world, another dimension.”

William rolled his eyes. “God, Lara. Why did you call us? Do we look like Mulder and Scully?

“I haven’t summoned you for nothing. I need your help - no one knows that place better. If there’s anything... well, in any case you’ve right to access. Also, if you could reopen the excavation...”

Wilbur seemed lost and plunged into terrible thoughts. He glanced at Kurtis, overwhelmed by his penetrating gaze, then gasped: “I don’t think...we should...”

“Sometimes you’re annoying.” His twin snapped, and then turned his attention back to Lara. “It’s dangerous - fundamentalists could go back and kill us. And the government is not willing now to get involved...”

Suddenly, Wilbur threw back his chair. The sound was so creaky that William stopped and threw a sour look on his brother. “You're a naive fool.” Wilbur snapped, his voice shaking. “You’re like the mouse that worries about the cat, but doesn’t think _who_ might have sent the cat to destroy us.”

William snorted. “Yeah, sorry, I hadn’t thought about it. The evil Lilith-Astarte has risen from her grave and has summoned all the Israelites to occupy Syria and expel the Yankee invader. What a fool I am, if it was this obvious!”

William’s ironic words only managed to enrage Wilbur, who jumped from the chair. Lara started to get up to avoid possible discussion, but then felt Kurtis’ warm hand holding her by the wrist. He didn’t look at her, staring at Wilbur as he was, but she understood.

The archaeologist's face was even redder than usual, which seemed impossible. “You moron!” He snapped. Some diners turned to look at them. “I don’t mean the damn fundamentalists. I mean the creatures that attacked my crew when we were excavating the offering pit! Those things with a human face!”

“Manticores?” Lara leaned forward, excited. “You’re talking about manticores?”

But Wilbur's face was deformed into a mask of panic. “He already knew!” He held out a trembling finger towards Kurtis. “He's seen...he's also seen them...! _They’re_ _coming_ _to_ _destroy_ _us!”_

Maddalena screamed when she saw the man about to faint. She jumped at him and barely had time to hold him before he collapsed, white as wax, and with his terrified eyes fixed on Kurtis, who'd not moved an inch.

 

* * *

 

“Please! Don’t tell me you believe in such bullshit!”

“That was a panic attack.” Kurtis calmly exposed. “Typical manticores' stuff. Those who manage to overcome the fear of seeing them, will remember them throughout life, in their worst nightmares, and even when they’re awake.”

William frowned. “I’ve got no idea who you are, but you’re a really creepy guy. I was there with him, and I didn’t see those... things.”

“Manticores are messengers of evil”. Kurtis went on. “The men who were with your brother died, right?”

The other shook his head. “There... there was a rockfall. Some died there... and the others, well... fell sick and died.”

“How?”

Lara and Maddalena were bent over Wilbur’s prostrate body, who along with some people from the hotel tried to reanimate him.

“They went blind, then... became paralyzed and died. Does it matter?”

“The effects of a manticore’s bite.” The Lux Veritatis concluded.

William shook his head. “Look, I don’t believe in monsters and shit...”

“Whatever – you'll believe when you see them, but it’s not my business. We only need a pass and some security to access that temple. Then if you want, you can run away with your brother. But Lara, Giulia, and I will stay there.”

Lara had looked up and watched them. Wilbur began to blink and mumble something. “It’s very important to me, William.” She interjected.

The American archaeologist spent a few moments looking silently at his trembling twin. Then he looked at that creepy man, and finally turned back to Lara. “OK. We’re going on the road to Damascus - come hell or high water.”


	39. Sibilla Satanica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image is an official render of Joachim Karel as a Nephilim, showing the identifying mark in his hand, as he appeared in-game.

"I was young and ambitious - I longed over all knowledge and wisdom. And he was very, very old, like he'd seen ages and ages pass like a single moment of a mortal life. He was old and eternal, and I was young and ambitious - I let myself be seduced by him.

I don’t know if the woman who bred you told you how he was. Truth be told, he'd an ordinary look, he wasn’t a marvel of beauty and perfection as you are. He was tall, blond with blue eyes, always dressed in black, very elegantly. He'd chosen to be called Joachim Karel, taking a mortal name from the Hebrew language, as was usual among the _Nephili_. Same way your mother chose yours, no doubt.

He... he came to me on a stormy night. I had already become a deacon in my unstoppable ascent, and slept a feverish sleep among the manuscripts that my solicitous protector, the former Cardinal Ratzinger, had let me see. I looked up at a certain moment, startled by a sudden burst of lightning, and then I saw him there, in a corner. Those who'd seen a Nephilim’s smile know how it feels. May God forgive me this blasphemy, but it’s like seeing an angel smiling...and also a demon. He wasn’t as attractive as you, but while he lived there was no creature as terrifying and irresistible in all the Earth.

So I saw him as an open door to eternal wisdom, like a sea of promises. I was proud and had little fear of God, despite my fervent farce to my superiors, and gladly listened to his enticing, cajoling, poisonous words.”

The cardinal stopped with a gasp, shuddering. The pain of his poor joints had increased. He felt as if his bones were being crushed under a hammer.

 

* * *

 

 _“_ _Ercole_ _Monteleone.” Karel_ _whispered with a_ _crooked_ _lupine_ _smile_ _. “As you are part of_ _the_ _hierarchy_ _of_ _your_ _Church_ _you_ _’_ _re_ _also_ _among_ _very_ _inappropriate_ _texts.”_

 _The_ _young_ _deacon,_ _stunned,_ _dropped_ _the_ _parchment_ _and_ _cast_ _a_ _look_ _of_ _panic_ _on_ _the_ _scrolls_ _and_ _codex_ _scattered_ _around_ _the_ _table. “Who_ _are_ _you?_ _” H_ _e_ _stammered,_ _as_ _seeing_ _him_ _dressed_ _in_ _black_ _he_ _thought_ _he_ _was_ _an_ _inspector_ _of_ _the_ _Holy_ _Father._

 _But_ _Karel,_ _in_ _reply,_ _advanced_ _towards_ _the_ _table,_ _took_ _a_ _paper_ _and_ _watched_ _it_ _with_ _disinterest._ _Then_ _his_ _keen_ _eyes_ _swept_ _across_ _the_ _remaining_ _documents. “Necromancy,_ _Malleus_ _Maleficarum,_ _Black_ _Bible...and...what_ _is_ _this?_ _A_ _Lux_ _Veritatis_ _’_ _manuscript_ _about_ _the_ _Nephili_ _and_ _Lilith...” He_ _threw_ _the_ _paper_ _back_ _on_ _the_ _table._ _“_ _Certainly_ _inappropriate_ _for a_ _holy_ _man._ _I can imagine_ _what_ _your_ _superiors_ _would_ _think_ _about_ _feeding_ _your_ _soul_ _with_ _such_ _readings._ _However,_ _you_ _hold_ _them_ _in_ _your_ _library._ _Oh, the_ _irony.”_

 _“_ _Are_ _you_ _an_ _inspector?”_

 _Karel_ _again_ _showed_ _his_ _crooked_ _smile._ _“_ _I_ _am_ _much_ _worse_ _for_ _you._ _I_ _guess_ _you've_ _already_ _read_ _enough_ _to_ _recognize_ _this.” He_ _opened_ _his_ _hand,_ _showing_ _a_ _seared_ _scar,_ _something_ _that_ _in_ _fact_ _the_ _deacon_ _Monteleone_ _identified_ _as_ _the_ _mark_ _of_ _a_ _Nephilim._

 _“_ _Fake.” He'd the_ _courage_ _to_ _mumble_ _. “_ _That_ _mark_ _can_ _be_ _done_ _by_ _anyone._ _Are you kidding me_ _?”_

 _The_ _table_ _vibrated_ _sharply_ _and_ _moved_ _in_ _a_ _horizontal_ _direction_ _until_ _crashing_ _against_ _the_ _wall,_ _dragging_ _lamps,_ _vases_ _and_ _chairs,_ _and_ _scattering_ _the_ _manuscripts._ _“_ _The_ _long_ _centuries_ _have_ _given_ _me_ _patience_ _for_ _everything_ _except_ _for_ _the_ _insolence_ _of_ _mortals.”_

 _Ercole_ _went_ _back_ _against_ _the_ _wall,_ _shivering_ _violently._ _“_ _I-I'm_ _just...a...p-poor_ _deacon...”_

 _“_ _A_ _miserable_ _mortal,_ _which_ _is_ _worse._ _But_ _you're_ _corrupted_ _by_ _ambition_ _and_ _you_ _learn_ _from_ _forbidden_ _texts - which_ _is_ _enough_ _to_ _serve_ _my_ _purpose.” Before_ _Monteleone_ _’_ _s_ _stunned_ _eyes,_ _the_ _Nephilim_ _took_ _a_ _sheet_ _of_ _paper_ _and_ _threw_ _it_ _contemptuously_ _on_ _the_ _table._ _“_ _Write,_ _poor_ _deacon.” He_ _mocked_ _. “_ _Those_ _of_ _your_ _ilk_ _have_ _always_ _enjoyed_ _chattering_ _and_ _writing.”_

 _Ercole_ _took_ _the_ _paper_ _tremblingly_ _and_ _looked_ _for_ _something_ _to_ _write with._ _Even_ _his_ _curiosity_ _was_ _greater_ _than_ _his_ _fear_ _and_ _he_ _had_ _no_ _strength_ _to_ _resist. “What_ _should_ _I_ _write?”_

 _“_ _I'll_ _tell_ _you_ _about_ _Samael_ _’_ _s_ _fall._ _It's_ _time_ _for_ _your_ _pompous_ _bunch_ _of_ _preachers_ _to_ _stop_ _telling_ _lies_ _to_ _the_ _mob._ _If_ _I_ _see_ _you_ _’_ _re_ _useful_ _for_ _this,_ _maybe_ _then_ _I_ _’_ _ll_ _tell_ _you_ _about_ _Lilith._ _I_ _bet_ _your_ _texts_ _were_ _not_ _going_ _to_ _say_ _anything_ _such_ _as_ _interesting_ _as_ _this.”_

 _Without_ _another_ _word,_ _the_ _deacon_ _convulsively_ _grasped_ _the_ _pen_ _and_ _proceeded_ _to_ _transcribe_ _the_ _intensity_ _of_ _that_ _immortal_ _voice,_ _revealing_ _to_ _a_ _human_ _being_ _for_ _the_ _first_ _time_ _one_ _of_ _the_ _greatest_ _mysteries_ _of_ _all_ _times._

 

* * *

 

The old Cardinal looked up and beheld the unexpected daughter of who was his confidante. The beautiful girl smiled calmly. “You don’t want me to tell you about your father.” He murmured at last. “You want me to talk about what he ordered me to write.”

“You’re clever, old man.”

“I should have figured. You’re coming to speak to me and then kill me.”

Bathsheba waved a hand tiredly. “You’re all obsessed with death. Must be something exciting - makes you live too fast. Why would I kill you, if you're going to die tonight anyway?”

Ercole laughed bitterly. “If all your predecessors thought like you...”

“Tell me about the script he made you write. The one you burned.” The woman’s green eyes scrutinized him mercilessly. How could she know everything just by looking at him? He shivered - he'd forgotten how terrible those creatures were.

“Yes, I burned it, I admit.” He writhed in pain in his chair. “I burned it when my sources informed me that he was dead and couldn’t return to punish me. Those words were cursed - its very existence made the angels mourn.” His eyes strayed to the dim light of the lamp, and then looked at the package she still kept coiled in her lap. As driven by a spring, Bathsheba's arm suddenly uncovered the fabric.

 _“_ _Oh,_ _Santa_ _Maria_.”

There they were - the Periapt and the Shards. His eyes welled with tears. How often had he dreamed of them, while he devoured forbidden manuscripts, trying to imagine them, wanting to touch them...he'd them there now, and his bone pain was so intense that he couldn’t even lend a hand.

“At last you have them, powerful woman. Finally the dark days are coming. She will wake up again... and thanks to heaven, I won’t live to see it.”

 _“_ _Everyone_ will see.” Bathsheba hissed. “All of you. The inhabitants of the Earth. Those who dwell in heaven. Those who suffer in the Vortex. The wandering, lost souls, who are homeless. All of them. Lilith's awakening won’t remain unnoticed even to the most despicable form of life ever created.”

“Then, may God have mercy on us.” And one more time, he went on...

 

* * *

 

Marcus had great oratorical skills, but even his best oratory couldn’t resolve that situation. After long hours of consultation, the entire community mobilized to help with the monastery’s archives, and all they got had been vague allusions or incomprehensible texts – it was exasperating.

“So, the Antichrist comes and we've nothing with which to fight Her.” The old Healer looked up from the codex he was studying, surprised, and saw Nikos Kavafis standing before him. He was altered. _“Pa_ _téras_ , you’re still too weak. Please, go back to rest...”

“I can’t be idle - not in these circumstances. The Antichrist's coming...and I thought to see Her in a Nephilim who was easy to defeat.”

Marcus frowned, while the _hegumenos_ took seat beside him. He moved slowly, tortured by the pain of his still fresh wounds.

“I wouldn’t call Her the Antichrist.”

“How would you define the awakening of that horrible devil? Call it Satan or Lilith, the Evil One threatens to overshadow the earth. For centuries we've helped your Order against those whom we believed the greatest enemies of mankind, these _Nephili_... ours is the story of a failure.”

“Not very different from ours.” Marcus smiled. “All we have now is a Fighter who doesn’t want to fight and an unborn child in the spotlight of all the dark forces - not a very good picture.”

Nikos nodded. “I wish I had the great faith of my predecessor. He'd have known what to do.” He shook his head as if to ward off such thoughts, and whispered. “What are you consulting there, Healer?”

Marcus grinned and showed the text to the _hegumenos_. He read: _Innocence,_ _Wisdom,_ _Occultism,_ _Impurity,_ _Angelic_ _Essence,_ _hanging_ _from_ _the_ _fingers_ _of_ _a_ _Warrior_ _and_ _an_ _Amazon._

“Dear Lord.” The _hegumenos_ murmured surprised. “At last you’ve found something!”

“You think so? I'm not so sure. Read on.”

 _An_ _Amazon_ _and_ _a_ _Warrior_ _two_ _must_ _sacrifice._ _For_ _their_ _cause_ _they will have_ _to_ _shed_ _their_ _blood,_ _but_ _not_ _stain_ _their_ _hands_ _with_ _blood._

“If you want my opinion”, Marcus snorted, “this is a meaningless hodgepodge.”

Nikos smiled. “Well, I'm a hieromonk, and you're a Healer. If we don’t unveil this, nobody will - let me read on.”

 _The_ _shed_ _blood_ _cries_ _from_ _the_ _ground._ _Innocent_ _blood,_ _wise_ _blood,_ _impure_ _blood,_ _occult_ _blood,_ _angelic_ _blood_ _will_ _splash_ _the_ _earth_ _._

“You said meaningless?” Nikos sputtered. “It's crystal clear!”

 _“Yes,_ _right?_ _”_ Marcus had trouble containing the sarcasm. “My friend, that's the problem. It's so clear that it’s not saying _anything_. It merely repeats the bloody prophecy!”

“Let me read on, Marcus.” The _hegumenos_ said, taking the codex. “I might find something.”

 _See_ _with_ _clear_ _eyes_ _what_ _the_ _truth_ _is._ _Nothing_ _is_ _as_ _clear_ _as_ _shown_ _by_ _our_ _mortal_ _eyes._ _Innocence_ _is_ _not_ _innocence;_ _impurity_ _is_ _not_ _the_ _absence_ _of_ _purity._ _Wisdom_ _has_ _many_ _faces,_ _and_ _what_ _is_ _hidden_ _from_ _the_ _eyes_ _is_ _clearly_ _shown_ _to_ _the_ _world._ _The_ _angel_ _can_ _be_ _demon._

Nikos laughed. “It's pretty...ironic. It is and it’s not. It can be anyone, but not what it seems. This text doesn’t get us anywhere...”

Marcus growled.

“... but...”

“But what?”

“Well, obviously we shouldn’t quit. Any assumption about the chosen ones?”

“Professor Ivanoff proposed that he, Selma or I could be the Wise. According to him, the Angel could be Lady Bathsheba, while he saw the Impure in Ms. Manfredi...”

Nikos laughed again. “Ivanoff is quite sharp, but... he seems to stick in the dark. Bathsheba might certainly be a demon looking like an angel, but the Impure and the Wise is too obvious...and this text warns us we shouldn’t overlook anything.”

“Kurtis didn’t seem satisfied either. Evil creatures don’t distinguish a prostitute from a chaste mortal. For them all of us are dirty mortals.”

The _hegumenos_ looked through a little more of the codex. In some places the ink was smeared and half-erased; some pages were rotten and had lost its caps long ago.

“Who wrote this manuscript?” Marcus asked. “Do you know? I found it in one of the basements near the crypt.”

“The title being?”

 _“_ _O_ _Onirikón_ _Daimonion_. The Devil's Dream.”

Nikos stood for a moment, and then grinned. “What... what paradox. So it is there where the events lead us....”

“Why? I never heard of this book before.”

“Neither you nor anyone outside the monastery - and much less the younger novices. This book was forbidden by _hegumenos_ Stefanos, who commanded to keep and banned access to it in XIII century.”

“Why didn’t he burn it? But... are you saying that this _really_ was written in the XIII century?”

The _hegumenos_ laughed. “Not at all. It was written long before. This book was already old when he ordered to hide it. Maybe he was afraid of burning it.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair. He trembled slightly. “If it's not fake...”

“It's not, Brother.”

“..then we have in our hands a book that tells about the Order, the prophecies of a Warrior and an Amazon... several centuries _before_ the Order was born... _before_ Loanna Von Skopf was born! In the name of all which is sacred, who wrote this?”

Nikos was smiling. “It’s forbidden to talk about this, but these are times of trial...and there’s always leaked information. My predecessor Minos talked to me about this book, on his deathbed. How strange...”

“Tell me about it!” The Healer commanded rather than suggested.

 

* * *

 

 _Eighty_ _years_ _of_ _life_ _had_ _trod_ _the_ _earth,_ _and_ _finally_ _it_ _was_ _time_ _to_ _leave._ _Minos_ _Axiotis_ _lay_ _on_ _his_ _deathbed, his_ _limp_ _hand_ _barely_ _hold_ _ing_ _the_ _rosary, his_ _eyes_ _fixed_ _on_ _his_ _beloved_ _icon_ _of_ _the_ _Panagia_ _,_ _which_ _had_ _presided_ _his_ _office_ _for_ _so_ _long,_ _which_ _he'd_ _sent_ _to_ _bring_ _in_ _front_ _of_ _his_ _bed._

 _At_ _his_ _feet,_ _holding_ _her_ _hand,_ _Nikos_ _Kavafis,_ _elected as his_ _successor,_ _stood_ _with_ _his_ _head_ _bowed._ _The_ _impending_ _loss_ _of_ _one_ _who_ _'_ _d_ _been_ _guide_ _and_ _inspiration_ _for_ _the_ _whole_ _community_ _had_ _fallen_ _like_ _a_ _wet_ _blanket_ _over_ _them,_ _although_ _he_ _was_ _too_ _old_ _and_ _sick._

 _“_ _Nikos...”_

 _The_ _monk_ _opened_ _his_ _eyes._ _Minos_ _had_ _his_ _face_ _turned_ _towards_ _him,_ _but_ _he_ _no_ _longer_ _saw_ _anything_ _– his_ _dim_ _eyes_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _point_ _in_ _any_ _direction._ _“_ _Nikos,_ _I_ _must_ _tell_ _you_ _something._ _It's_ _about...the_ _forbidden_ _book._ _Ó_ _Onirikón_ _Daimonión.”_

 _He_ _frowned._ _No_ _doubt_ _they_ _were_ _the_ _ravings_ _of_ _a_ _dying_ _man._ _“_ _Rest,_ _patéras._ _The_ _Lord_ _awaits_ _you.”_

 _“_ _No!_ _” T_ _he_ _cry_ _came_ _out_ _with_ _surprising_ _energy_ _from_ _his_ _bloodless_ _lips. “I_ _should_ _have_ _talked_ _about_ _it_ _long ago_ _._ _Listen,_ _I_ _beg_ _you._ _I'm_ _dying...”_

 _Nikos_ _bowed_ _his_ _head_ _in_ _respect._

 _“_ _This_ _book..._ _will_ _be_ _your_ _guide_ _when_ _Evil_ _returns.”_

 _“_ _What_ _are_ _you_ _talking about,_ _holy_ _Father?_ _Evil_ _'_ _s_ _dead._ _We_ _saw_ _him_ _die,_ _and_ _end_ _the_ _pain.”_

 _Minos_ _strenuously_ _shook_ _his_ _head. “Evil_ _always_ _returns._ _Always_ _returns,_ _and_ _becomes_ _stronger._ _That_ _was_ _just_ _a_ _battle._ _You_ _must..._ _help_ _them...”_

 _“_ _Who,_ _Father?”_

 _“_ _Kurtis._ _Lara._ _They_ _remain_ _at_ _risk._ _The_ _forbidden_ _codex...” A_ _fit_ _of_ _coughing_ _prevented_ _him_ _from_ _going on_ _._ _Nikos_ _took_ _a_ _jug_ _of_ _water_ _from the table_ _and_ _poured_ _a_ _glass,_ _which he_ _brought_ _to_ _the_ _lips_ _of_ _the_ _dying man._ _“Son...” Minos muttered after drinking. “T_ _his_ _book_ _was_ _written_ _in_ _the_ _seventh_ _century_ _AD._ _It_ _tells us about_ _things_ _that_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _exist_ _at_ _that_ _time,_ _such_ _as_ _the_ _Order_ _of_ _the_ _Lux_ _Veritatis,_ _or_ _the_ _Amazon._ _It_ _was_ _written_ _by_ _one_ _person..._ _a_ _woman...” Another_ _fit_ _of_ _coughing._ _Again Nikos_ _gave_ _him_ _a_ _drink._ _Despite_ _knowing_ _that_ _it_ _was_ _wrong_ _,_ _Nikos_ _could_ _feel_ _the_ _sting_ _of_ _curiosity_ _tormenting_ _him_ _in_ _the_ _inside._ _“_ _That_ _woman..._ _was_ _a_ _prophetess_ _living_ _in_ _the_ _mountains_ _of_ _Syria._ _A_ _woman_ _who_ _calls_ _herself_ _in_ _the_ _manuscript_ _as_ _Sibilla_ _Satanica.”_

 _“_ _A_ _Devil_ _’_ _s_ _priestess?”_

 _Minos_ _agreed._

 _“_ _How_ _can_ _we_ _keep_ _such_ _horror_ _in_ _our_ _library?”_ _Nikos_ _gasped._

 _“_ _Because_ _it_ _’_ _s_ _a_ _horror_ _that_ _can_ _save_ _many_ _at_ _one_ _time._ _Listen..._ _this_ _woman_ _foretold_ _the_ _awakening_ _of_ _an_ _ancient_ _evil..._ _an_ _evil_ _that_ _will_ _come_ _to_ _punish,_ _to_ _avenge,_ _and_ _to_ _destroy._ _Eventually,_ _you_ _’_ _ll_ _help_ _with_ _this_ _manuscript_ _when_ _everyone_ _demands it_ _.”_

 _“_ _But,_ _patéras_ _...”_

 _“_ _Swear_ _to me_ _,_ _son.”_

 _“Swearing is sinful_ _!”_

 _The_ _old_ _hegumenos_ _smiled_ _bitterly. “There_ _are_ _many_ _things_ _which are sinful and we do them anyway_ _._ _Swear,_ _son...” The_ _breathing_ _became_ _slower,_ _mechanical._ _Little_ _by_ _little,_ _his_ _pupils_ _dilated_ _and_ _his_ _lips_ _remained_ _half_ _open._

 _Nikos_ _placed_ _his_ _hand_ _on_ _his_ _chest_ _and_ _bowed_ _his_ _head._ _“Welcome_ _him,_ _angels_ _of_ _the_ _Lord._ _Receive_ _him,_ _Queen_ _of_ _Heaven.”_

 

* * *

 

The _hegumenos_ shuddered when finished talking. He looked at his hands, horrified, as his eyes filled with tears.

“Nikos!” Marcus exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, Blessed Lord!” He sobbed _. “I_ _remember_ _now!_ I had a demon inside of me...”

“That's already over. You’re healed and purified.”

Nikos gave a cry of grief. Then he buried his face in his hands. “How could I forget! I had it in me and he whispered that prophecy over and over again! How could I forget that book, how could I ignore Minos’ last breath!”

“Courage, Nikos. We’re still on time. We can help. Looks like this codex itself is valuable, so we’ll turn to study it and tell Lara and Kurtis what we get.” He pressed the monk’s hand, still dazed, and both then returned to reading.

 

* * *

 

They drove for half an hour across the arid landscape, after having left behind Damascus. There were two Jeeps, one driven by the twins, and the other for Lara, Kurtis, and Maddalena. Despite the British explorer’s protests, it was Kurtis who was driving. “If I agreed with everything you propose,” He muttered, glancing at his passenger, “maybe you’ll end up bungee jumping in your ninth month, Lara. Stop acting like a maniac.”

She glared at him and then focused on examining the map.

“I remember you had a motorcycle” The redhead gently whispered from the back seat.

“Must be at your friend Monteleone’s.” Kurtis said. “But I’ll get it back.”

Lara smiled - Kurtis knew, but not Maddalena, that the _capo_ was dead.

“Now, when you get to a kind of intersection, turn left.” The British explorer said, and brushed a stray strand of hair from her sweaty forehead.

“You sure we need those two?”

“A little late to send them back to the USA.” Lara laughed. “Yes, we need them. They know the excavation which is massive. Could do it myself, but that would take a long time, and time is what we don’t have.”

Maddalena shrugged. She couldn’t understand anything. What were they searching for? What was about to happen?

 _You_ _know,_ _beautiful_ _Giulia._ _You_ _know_ _that._

She shuddered with fear and looked around, terrified.

 _I_ _never_ _leave_ _you,_ _in_ _neither_ _sun_ _nor_ _shade_ , whispered the Voice, _never_ _forget_ _it_.

 

* * *

 

“Ah!” Wilbur sighed. “My beautiful! They didn't destroy it.” He turned towards the rest. “Welcome to the temple of Astarte.”

It was huge, indeed. A massive structure in ruins, some walls carved, some other with traces of pigments. Lara looked at them, delighted, but commanded herself to focus on her goal. “We need to get started. Any suggestion?

“Lead us where you saw the manticores.” Kurtis told Wilbur.

When the three had disappeared among the ruins, William dropped himself at the foot of a column and lit a cigarette. Then he looked at Maddalena, who had sat in the shade absently. “I spent the best years of my life in this place.” He murmured, looking with a smile at the beautiful engravings. “When we found it, it was nothing more than two misplaced stones - and look now how much we unearthed.” He sighed. “I'm surprised those suckers respected it. I'm about to change my opinion on them.”

She hugged her knees, not looking at him. He however didn’t take his eyes off her. “I don’t get what’s happening here. I’m getting more and more confused. My brother raves like a madman, like when we left this site, and I find Lara totally changed.” He threw the cigarette. “What do you know about this? Who are you and who's that guy? He’s her lover, right?”

The redhead ran her view across the structure, feeling uncomfortable. “Not my business.”

“No? What are you doing here? Are you his lover too?” There was no response. “I hate that guy. I don’t like him. I don’t think we can trust him. Do you believe all that bullshit about Lilith and the descent into Hell?” Silence. “It’s a trap, right?”

 

* * *

 

“This is a _bothros_. Archaeologists named _bothroi_ the...”

“... the offering pits in ancient temples.” Lara smiled sarcastically. “You going to teach me archaeology at this point, Wilbur?”

The ruddy American, squatting in front of the pit, smiled like a child whose mother scolded him. “Let me enjoy it, Lara. Your friend could learn something.”

Kurtis bowed to the empty darkness and sniffed. “How deep is it there?”

“About six meters to the ground. But I brought a lad...” Before he could even finish the sentence, Kurtis had thrown himself down the hole. Wilbur screamed. “What are you doing, man! You'll break your legs!” A light flickered down, and he saw Kurtis standing among rubble remains, shining his flash-light around. The archaeologist was stunned. “Unbelievable! You must have titanium bones to... that’s a fall of six meters!”

“Six meters is nothing to Kurtis.” Lara smiled, somewhat envious of that Gift which allowed him to slow down the rate of fall. “But bring that ladder here, Wilbur, if you don’t want _us_ to break our legs.”

Shaking his head, the archaeologist adjusted the rope ladder with the help of Lara, and they descended. Once on the bottom, as she stepped on some broken pottery, the woman bent down and lifted a winged statuette with unmistakable symbols. “Lilith.” She announced triumphantly. “You still think this temple was devoted to Astarte?”

“Don’t start with that, Lara.”

Kurtis was crouched next to a hole in the bottom of the borehole wall, his flash-light scanning their surroundings. “Here's a tunnel. Wide enough for a person to crawl through... and for a manticore to freely move.”

Wilbur began to tremble, but made an effort to keep calm. “Those things went out there. There were many... but... _what_ _are_ _you_ _doing?”_

Kurtis was crawling down the hole. Lara followed him. “You sure?” She said. “If they come, how can you defend yourself in such a narrow space?”

“They aren’t here.” The Lux Veritatis gasped. “I don’t sense them.”

The American shook his head, not knowing what to think.

“I’m going with you.” Lara was crawling after him.

“Lara...”

“Hush! If there are no manticores, there’s no danger - and no one died simply from crawling for a while!”

With a grunt, Kurtis went forward.

“Are you coming with us, Wilbur?”

“I... I think ... I’ll wait here.”

 

* * *

 

Twenty yards ahead, they saw the exit - luckily the ground was near. Kurtis slipped out of the hole and planted his feet on it. Then he helped Lara to go out. “Incredible.” She announced, satisfied. “Who could say?”

They were in a large underground cave which seemed to be ventilated with drafty upper galleries coming from the surface. Before them there was a kind of strange stone structure, like an egg, with a central staircase carved in stone. Some torches illuminated the place.

“Someone lives there.” Kurtis said.

“What kind of person can live buried here?” Lara muttered, already heading for the stairs.

Kurtis took her arm. “Don’t you think it could be dangerous?”

Lara lifted her loose shirt and showed the gun she'd tucked into her belt. “I'm armed. C'mon.”

They ascended through the dark rock towards the stone egg. A tattered curtain covered the entrance, behind which they saw a reddish glow.

“You think we should knock on the door?” Lara mocked. “It’s proper behaviour for decent places.”

“This is not a decent place.” Kurtis smiled, and pulled the curtain back with a stretch.

At first, a cloud of perfumed smoke prevented them from seeing anything. They took a few steps inside, then Lara gasped in surprise.

They were in a circular room, which would seem to be larger if it weren’t packed with stuff: jars, bottles, books, furniture, curtains, and thousands of boxes, shelves filled with objects and bundles wrapped in threadbare cloth. Opposite of them, and after a huge brazier in which some spices were burning and lit the room with a ghostly red light, there was a large wooden throne, covered with threadbare pillows. And sitting in it, there was a girl.

If she could be called girl - she seemed to be so judging by her small size, and because on her body, naked and smeared with red ochre, there was no evidence of puberty. But her appearance was horrible. Along the lines of paint that covered her little body, there was much scarification - her whole body was marked by blade. The hair was so dirty and matted that it was impossible to determine its color, but several tiny bones and skulls - mouse skulls? hung from it as a decoration. Lara estimated she was eight or nine years old.

The girl had been rigid in a seat that was five times bigger than her, but soon slightly opened her eyes. At first, Lara was horrified seeing the milky white color they had, but then she found, ashamed, that there was nothing monstrous in those eyes – she was just blind.

“Sorry we bothered you.” The British explorer said, suddenly feeling stupid at the fact she didn’t know how to react. “We...” She didn’t go on, because then the girl hissed like a snake - her pale lips, painted with a blackish substance, parted, showing her sharp yellow teeth.

Then Kurtis took a step and gently pushed Lara away, covering her to protect her from the child.

“Kurtis.” She murmured. “She's just a kid, she can’t...”

“The man is wiser than you, woman.” The creepy girl suddenly spoke. Lara looked at her, stunned, as the hoarse voice that came out of her horrible mouth didn’t seem the one of a child, but of a decrepit old woman.

“You speak my language?” Lara asked, still surrounded by Kurtis’ arm.

“I speak all the tongues of mortals and immortals. The Ancients gifted me with this instruction.” The whitish mass that was her eyes moved slowly, turning basins.

“But if you're just a girl, who let you here? Where are your parents?”

The tiny chest swelled and the creature gave a dry laugh. “I have no parents. Perhaps I had ones a long time ago, but they died while I've been spending entire ages on the Earth. I was also a child long ago, but I left that behind. Now I’m very old and very wise.”

“I don't get what you mean.”

“If you want answers, open that huge closet at your right.”

Lara turned to the cabinet, but Kurtis grabbed her again. “You crazy?” He hissed in her ear. “You have no idea what's in there!”

“Fear not, Son of Light.” The girl said. “I won’t be the one to hurt the Amazon.”

The British explorer released herself from his arms and went to the closet. It was as if she weren’t herself. Kurtis glared at her, and yes, she was being _stupidly_ reckless, but curiosity drove her to do what that monster dictated. She yanked the rickety closet doors, which creaked loudly, and then she stepped back and let out a cry of horror.

There were a lot of severed heads, piled up on several shelves. Stuffed heads, old heads, with mouth and eyes sewn shut, matted gray hair crowning some of them, others with a dry bald top...ten, twenty, thirty...

“Thousands of them.” The child said. “Since I was born until now, these are my previous avatars. I keep them in thousands of cabinets scattered in my domains. You understand now, Amazon? I was born the first time in the VII century of your era - since then, I’ve born, died and reborn again. When my body was dying, I took another one and kept my former bodies to venerate them. Unfortunately they rotted over the centuries and I only can keep the heads.”

Lara retched at the stench of the rotting heads. She staggered and Kurtis held her. “What's this atrocity?”

“Not an atrocity, but the gift of reincarnation. Only I can enjoy this, among all mortals.” The girl repositioned on her throne. “I hope your insane curiosity is satisfied now, Amazon.”

The nausea got worse – Lara was about to throw up. She closed the closet at once. The smell of corpses, burning spices...blood...filth... she thought, ironically, if she vomited on the carpeted floor, she wouldn’t mess that disgusting hall more than it already was. “Who are you?” She sputtered.

The blind eyes briefly closed, hiding the white jelly in her sooty face. “I’m Sibilla Satanica.” The creepy child whispered, baring again her sharp teeth. “And you, intruders, _what_ _are_ _you_ _doing_ _in_ _my_ _domain?”_


	40. Old Wounds

“There it is, Doctor.”

Giselle looked down the valley and the green vastness from which rose the rocky cliffs crowned by monasteries. In another time, perhaps, her heart could have been touched by such beauty, by Meteora’s ancient dignity, but she'd spent too much time among specimens and flasks, cutting, sewing, opening bodies, mutilating and severing. Too many miles of blank corridors and operating rooms had passed before her eyes. If there was ever any feeling in her soul that could be moved by that sight, it had vanished long ago.

Now she only saw an adverse terrain where a bunch of bigots who'd helped kill Karel vainly sought refuge. Her mind, dull with hate, was barely aware of what she'd left behind in Romania - a huge number of police officers looking for her, which would eventually extend beyond borders. Such a thing was not important to her.

Beside the great coach, Schäffer threw a critical eye on her. He'd sworn to serve her over all, but he was getting tired of her incombustible hatred. She was deranged. Well, if he had to make a new bloodbath, so it be - he'd lost his qualms long ago. But once done with that, Giselle would have to reason - he'd take care of it.

“Your men?”

“They will act on my signal - but it’s early yet. There are still tourists in the valley.”

“No tourists in Ayios Stefanos.” The blonde murmured. “That's where we go. I don’t care about anything else.” Calmly, she settled out of the car and took a few steps forward, without bothering to close the door. Her high heels were uncomfortably sinking in the grass. Truth be told, she was completely sore because of that endless journey, but also because of what was happening every night in her bed. Something she neither especially wanted nor had the heart to refuse. It didn’t matter – when it would all be over, she'd laugh. She'd laugh as ever. “They buried him there.” She muttered - Schäffer barely saw her red lipsticked lips moving. “At the foot of the rock. They put him into a hole and covered him with dirt...”

“Giselle...”

“You remember how we made him confess?” She smiled and embraced herself as if it was a pleasant and endearing memory.

Schäffer shook his head. Was she deranged, after all?

 

* * *

 

_Without_ _more_ _,_ _Schäffer_ _grabbed_ _Kurtis'_ _neck_ _and_ _giving_ _him_ _a_ _sharp_ _tug,_ _pulled_ _him_ _off_ _the_ _Throne_ _and_ _slammed_ _him_ _to_ _the_ _floor_ _._ _Giselle_ _almost_ _trembled_ _with_ _pleasure_ _when_ _she_ _heard_ _the_ _awful_ _crack_ _made_ _by_ _Kurtis_ _’_ _head_ _upon_ _impacting_ _with_ _the_ _floor_ _,_ _but_ _moments_ _later,_ _she_ _frowned._ _“You haven't killed him_ _,_ _right?”_

_“I_ _think_ _not._ _This_ _one's_ _really_ _tough.”_

_As_ _if_ _corroborating_ _his_ _words,_ _Kurtis_ _began_ _to_ _move._ _He_ _sat_ _up_ _slowly,_ _his_ _mouth_ _and_ _nose_ _bleeding._ _She_ _would've_ _loved_ _to_ _see_ _all_ _his_ _teeth_ _broken,_ _but_ _they_ _remained_ _intact, protected_ _by_ _his chapped_ _lips._

_Well,_ _s_ _he_ _might_ _have_ _his_ _teeth_ _pulled out_ _with_ _pliers._ _Why_ _not?_

_“You_ _call the doctor that_ _again_ _,” Schäffer_ _threatened,_ _“and_ _I_ _give_ _you_ _another_ _session_ _of_ _sparks._ _N_ _ow_ _answer_ _her_ _question.”_

_The_ _Lux_ _Veritatis_ _licked_ _his_ _lips,_ _trying_ _to_ _get_ _all_ _the_ _blood_ _possible,_ _and_ _then_ _spat_ _at_ _Schäffer_ _’_ _s_ _feet._ _Giselle_ _felt_ _angry - was_ _he_ _losing his mind_ _?_ _Didn_ _’_ _t_ _he_ _know_ _s_ _he_ _could_ _have him_ _cut_ _into_ _pieces,_ _if_ _she_ _felt_ _like_ _it?_

_“Motherfuckers.”_ _Kurtis_ _gasped_ _hoarsely_ _. “Y_ _ou_ _really_ _think_ _I_ _care?_ _They buried the freak out_ _of_ _the_ _monastery,_ _in_ _the_ _valley,_ _in_ _an_ _unmarked_ _grave – next to Gunderson._ _” H_ _e_ _looked_ _away,_ _towards_ _Giselle_ _. “_ _I'd have rather left_ _him_ _hanging_ _from_ _a_ _pole,_ _where_ _the_ _crows_ _could_ _tear_ _him_ _to_ _pieces.”_

_Schäffer_ _responded_ _by_ _giving_ _him_ _a_ _kick_ _in_ _the_ _stomach – not that he_ _particularly_ _enjoyed_ _doing_ _that,_ _but_ _it_ _was_ _his_ _job._ _In_ _any_ _case,_ _he_ _was_ _following_ _orders._ _If_ _she_ _asked_ _him_ _to_ _cut off his legs with a carpenter's saw_ _,_ _he_ _wouldn_ _’_ _t_ _blink_ _in_ _doing_ _so - for_ _that_ _was why_ _he_ _was_ _there,_ _taking_ _Gunderson_ _’_ _s_ _former position_ _._

_“_ _We_ _’_ _ll_ _tear_ _you_ _to_ _pieces alive,_ _be sure_ _.” Giselle said - and_ _despite_ _her_ _mocking_ _tone, she was_ _very_ _tense_ _. “_ _He,_ _however,_ _couldn_ _’_ _t_ _suffer_ _more.”_

_Kurtis'_ _mouth_ _twisted_ _in_ _a_ _bloody_ _grin_ _. “That_ _fucker_ _had_ _ever_ _suffered_ _in_ _all_ _his_ _damn_ _life, never_ _had_ _the_ _slightest_ _idea_ _about_ _what_ _suffering_ _is.”_

_“_ _But_ _you_ _do,_ _right?_ _We_ _’_ _ll_ _make_ _you_ _the_ _most_ _well-informed person_ _in_ _the_ _world._ _Too_ _bad_ _you_ _’_ _re_ _not_ _going_ _to_ _live_ _to_ _tell_ _the_ _tale.” She_ _turned_ _and_ _left_ _abruptly._ _Schäffer_ _had_ _absolute_ _certainty_ _that_ _she'd_ _gone_ _to_ _mourn_ _into_ _a_ _corner,_ _as_ _usual._ _That_ _attitude_ _made_ _him_ _furious!_ _There_ _was_ _her_ _most_ _hated_ _enemy,_ _defeated,_ _beaten,_ _tortured_ _and_ _broken,_ _and_ _she_ _wasn_ _’_ _t_ _relieved._ _Was_ _it not_ _time_ _to_ _change_ _things?_ _Nobody_ _could_ _return_ _her_ _fucking_ _Karel_ _to_ _her._ _Even_ _if_ _they_ _quartered_ _that_ _poor wretch alive_ _-_ _that's_ _what_ _he_ _was_ _in_ _the_ _eyes_ _of_ _the_ _mercenary_ _-_ _she_ _wouldn_ _’_ _t_ _be_ _happy._ _“_ _Lift_ _him.” Schäffer_ _commanded to_ _the_ _other_ _men_ _who,_ _standing_ _in_ _their_ _places,_ _had_ _witness_ _the_ _torture_ _without_ _blinking. “Enough for today.”_

_But_ _Kurtis_ _didn_ _’_ _t_ _let_ _them_ _to_ _touch_ _him, despite he barely managed to rise and stand on his feet._ _When_ _they_ _took_ _him_ _back_ _to_ _jail,_ _Schäffer_ _whispered: “You're insane.”_

_“Are you saying_ _that_ _to_ _me?_ _”_ _Kurtis_ _replied_ _without_ _looking_ _at_ _him._

_“_ _I_ _'ve seen you in action_ _._ _You_ _can_ _easily_ _get_ _out_ _of_ _here_ _but_ _instead_ _you_ _let_ _us do this_ _._ _I_ _don_ _’_ _t_ _know_ _if_ _you're_ _nuts_ _or_ _just_ _an idiot_ _,_ _but_ _that_ _kind_ _of_ _courage_ _is meaningless here_ _.”_

_Kurtis_ _then_ _looked_ _at_ _him_ _and_ _grinned,_ _showing_ _his_ _reddened_ _teeth. “You care about me?”_

_Schäffer_ _threw_ _back_ _his_ _head._ _“Care?_ _If_ _she_ _commands_ _me_ _to_ _cut your balls off, I'll do it anyway_ _._ _But_ _if_ _this_ _whole_ _martyr-for-the-cause_ _role_ _responds_ _to_ _a_ _plan_ _of_ _yours,_ _get_ _ready,_ _because_ _I'm gonna really fuck you.._ _.”_

 

* * *

 

“Schäffer! The hell are you doing?” Giselle looked at him accusingly.

The mercenary realized that he had been absorbed in his memories. “Excuse me, Doctor. I was thinking.”

The scientists bared her teeth in a grin. She was damn seductive; even though she didn’t know or pretend such thing. “Thinking doesn't suit you, Adolf. You'd better follow my command.”

He looked over the valley and frowned.

“C'mon. Tonight we'll have fun big time.”

_How_ _funny_ , Schäffer mocked to himself.

 

* * *

 

_Woe_ _to_ _you,_ _Innocent_ _soul_

_From_ _your_ _marked_ _body_

_The_ _deepest_ _pain_

_Will_ _devastate_ _your_ _essence_

_And_ _to_ _the_ _fire_ _of_ _your_ _birth_

_The_ _one_ _which_ _shaped_ _your_ _beauty_

_You_ _’_ _ll_ _return..._

Marcus looked up those verses written by a trembling hand, then at Nikos, who was somewhat enthralled.

“I know this isn’t appropriate for a man of my religion,” the _hegumenos_ stipulated, “but I'd never read something so beautiful.”

“It's beautiful, in fact.” The old man leaned back. “Like those poems I recited to Bathsheba...”

The monk blinked. “You recites poems to that monster?”

The Healer frowned. “Bathsheba's not like her father.”

“Please, Brother! That... devil tempted me and punished me. How can you say such a thing when you've seen all your people dying at the hands of creatures of her ilk?”

Marcus shook his head. “We shouldn’t forget that she was born of a probe, a hybridization experiment. She's not like the others.”

“Well, from what I've seen, she behaves like the others - cold, merciless, and she didn’t care even the least to step on corpses to achieve her goals. She’s as alien to human suffering as her predecessors.”

“However, she still hasn’t soiled her hands with blood - and I saw her covering Brother Kurtis’ tortured body with her cloak when we were prisoners on the Island.”

The monk shook his head stubbornly. “That makes her a human being?”

“I can’t imagine Karel covering anyone with his cloak. What I mean, Brother, is that she hasn’t yet been...let’s say, marked, stained, by the cruelty of her kind. She has a lot of mortal blood in her veins, though apparently possessing all the qualities of a Nephilim.”

“So you recite poems to her?”

“I’m a big fan of literature. I tried to criticize her indifference to suffering.” He sighed. “Oh, nevermind. You can’t understand.”

“Of course not!”

But then again, if Bathsheba wasn’t like the others, there could be a glimmer of hope. In some sense, she was still pure, still innoce... “What if she's the Innocent?” Marcus exclaimed suddenly, startling the monk. The old Healer took and read the verse again.

_Woe_ _to_ _you,_ _Innocent_ _soul_

_From_ _your_ _marked_ _body_

_The_ _deepest_ _pain_

_Will_ _devastate_ _your_ _essence_

_And_ _to_ _the_ _fire_ _of_ _your_ _birth_

_The_ _one_ _which_ _shaped_ _your_ _beauty_

_You_ _’_ _ll_ _return..._

“Bathsheba has her body... marked?” Nikos asked. “Was she born from fire?

“Don’t interpret it literally.” Marcus said. “We’re dealing with a prophetess.  Prophets have never spoken out, it is known.”

“Oh, well. Leave it and continue with the other.”

Marcus frowned. He didn’t like the following passages at all.

_Tormented_ _Warrior_

_Of_ _cursed_ _lineage_

_Born_ _for_ _suffering_

_You_ _will_ _choose_ _your_ _bitterest_ _price_

_And_ _drain_ _the_ _cup_ _of_ _sorrow_

_Until_ _there_ _is_ _nothing_ _left_ _to_ _give..._

“I wish nothing horrible awaits Kurtis. He's suffered enough, poor boy.” Marcus heard the monk bemoaning.

“A Lux Veritatis never suffers enough.” The Healer muttered quietly. “A Lux Veritatis only rests in his grave – it's always like this.”

“Time to put an end to it.”

Marcus nodded absently. End with that? May the Light help them! They would need all the help possible. And they were so alone...

_Shining_ _Amazon_

_With_ _hardened_ _soul_

_In_ _your_ _heart_ _and_ _your_ _womb_

_You_ _bring_ _hope_

_Also_ _you_ _carry_ _the_ _curse_

_Which_ _will_ _devour_ _the_ _darkness..._

 

* * *

 

“Radha!” Marie called out. “Don’t go too far!”

The girl, who looked thoughtfully at her reflection in a pool - was she that girl staring back at her? looked up and meekly went back to her.

The Navajo woman had spent several days distraught. When it had been about taking care of herself there was no problem - in any case, if she failed, the only one damaged would be herself. But being responsible for a child, who'd had enough in her country and now was expecting any kind of horror here - that was too much for her in some way. Marie must now go back to the times when she'd to take care of a boy disputed by the world's oldest orders, one to control him, the other to kill him. Too backward for her.

The Navajo woman looked at the phone. Should she do it? Should she drop all the bad news to Lara and Kurtis? Hadn’t they enough burdens on their shoulders? She bit her lip.

Finally, the old lady reached out and picked up the receiver, but instead of dialing the number Lara always carried with her, she scored Marcus’ one, who'd been gifted with another phone by the solicitous British explorer to avoid communication problems.

 

* * *

 

“Those are bad news, Marie.” Marcus lamented, holding the receiver away from the table for consultation, where Nikos was flipping through the codex.

“I fear for my life and Radha’s, but I can deal with it.” The Navajo woman continued. “I also fear for Zip, but he refuses to leave the hospital - and you, Marcus, you might be in danger too.”

The Healer felt a cold indifference - there was nothing left to lose for him, there was no danger he couldn’t assume. At the end of the day, what else could they do to him? “Has she been found?”

“She seems to have left, at least, the city of Brasov. Maybe she's gone even from Romania. But I'm not sure.”

“That woman is completely deranged – she’ll do whatever ruthlessly and without considering the consequences. You must leave and take Radha with you.”

Marie couldn’t suppress a grimace of disgust. He kept giving orders as if he was still a wise of the Order’s Council. Some things never changed.

“I'll take care of Radha, no problem with that. But I fear for Lara and Kurtis.”

“You shouldn’t. Both of them are perfectly able to handle this, if they stay together. I've never seen two people working better together.”

“Marcus... if that madwoman breaks in with her goons...”

“I know. I’ll warn them. Don’t worry.” And without more, he hung up.

Marie looked at the phone, stunned, and hung it in turn. Then she turned and stared for a moment, without actually seeing her, at the tall, slender young girl before her.

Why had Marie the feeling that they had abandoned her again?

_Stop_ _feeling_ _sorry_ _for_ _yourself,_ _you_ _old_ _fool._ _By_ _now_ _you_ _should_ _know_ _this_ _is_ _how_ _it_ _works_ _:_ _save_ _your_ _own_ _ass,_ _and_ _may_ _the_ _others_ _save_ _themselves_ _if_ _they_ _can._ “Let’s go, Radha. We're done here.”

“Where?” The girl said, confused.

Did Marie have the right to put her in such a risk? Who but Lara was responsible? Or should she take her back to England...from where she was kidnapped...? “We go to Syria.”

 

* * *

 

The Cardinal Monteleone looked, spellbound, at the flames dancing in the fireplace. They had spent almost an hour there and he'd not even begun, but Bathsheba was well endowed with the astounding patience of the _Nephili_ , despite her half-blood.

“At the beginning of time, a battle was fought in God’s kingdom because of the first wife who was, unlike what has been taught to all Christians, not Eve but Lilith. In fact, if the evil had to be loose on a creature, it would be on her. I’m ignorant of how that woman looked when mortal, but she had to be the most beautiful creature of God to corrupt the purest of His angels.” He huddled in his chair, picking up his purple cassock. “Samael was by far the highest of all the Lord’s angels. He hadn’t Michael’s warlike and loyal personality, or Gabriel’s enthusiasm for the Word, nor even looked like the other angels. From the moment he saw the first human being, the one who was called Adam, he was charmed by the fragile but also divine nature of mortals - and seeing who was to be his wife ended up deranging him. But I must not linger on this, you’d probably already know- still, that's how Karel told me.” He looked briefly towards the woman who sat quietly in front of him. “Yes... she must have been a beauty like you.” He sighed.

“In any case, we named Lilith and Samael’s children _Nephili_ , who fell to Earth to blend in with mortals. Hybrids of angels and demons they were called... that’s right. Both He and She are a couple that shares power equally. Some Satanic traditions made them brothers, but we shouldn’t be mistaken: Brothers in the sense of equals, since Lilith had become an angel – a fallen angel as doomed as Her husband, but an angel after all. This goes against the precepts of my Church, but really an angel doesn’t need to have wings or live in heaven. The angel is such thing because of being born as an angel, or having reached an angel’s status, and once you are made an angel, angelic nature can’t be removed. We say the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, but He shouldn’t have been able to take away what was given to His servants, nor what Samael gave to Lilith, so that in the end He'd to banish them to the Darkness.”

It was amazing how Karel’s words still haunted his memory so vividly that he even seemed to be there, forcing him to write what he remembered so well.

“Lilith’s malice is immense. Samael knows how not to get involved in the affairs of mortals, and at the same time, be with them, but She'd to be contained or Her overwhelming fury would have devoured the Earth. That's why when the _Nephili_ achieved enough power to consider imposing a new rule over mortals... they decided to betray their Mother and imprison her.”

For the first time he saw signs of activity in Bathsheba - her eyelashes quivered and she rose, rigid in her seat. “Imprisoning her? Must have been my father’s work, who in his arrogance cheated you. No one can imprison Lilith, not even the strongest of the _Nephili!”_

“It was Karel - one of the oldest children, if not the first. It was him who locked Her up.”

“That’s absurd.”

“He used Her own Scepter against Her.”

Bathsheba shook her head, waving her hair’s black curls. Would she have an idea about how lovely she was when angry?

“You’ll understand, Blessed Daughter – is that not like how you were called among your own? - when you let me speak a little more. The Scepter, that Scepter you hold in your lap as indulgently as if holding a child's toy, is an object of great power. Lilith focused all Her anger and energy on it. She created an instrument that only She could control, but... in doing so, She also created the only object _that_ _could_ _control_ _Her_.”

Her coralline lips twisted into a sarcastic grimace, but said nothing.

“She used the Scepter to frighten the Order which had risen to fight them. But Karel discovered something... in fact, something that broke all the schemes and led him to seriously consider to betray not only The One Who Has Given Him Life, but his strongest ally in his struggle for dominance over mortals and extermination of his enemies. And when She, angry and disappointed, delivered the Shards to the Lux Veritatis... Karel had no more doubt about what to do. With his overwhelming personality, which made him the strongest among his brothers, he managed to win enough support for the rebellion. He used the Scepter against its own Maker and when hitting Her with it, he defeated Her, leaving Her lost in the semi-conscious slumber of the damned from that century.”

He sighed and rubbed his bloated face.

“Samael didn’t intervene. Karel was of the opinion that, for The First Fallen One, there were things to be left in the hands of mortals. Although He didn’t quite approve of the plans of the _Nephili_ and His Wife, He was convinced that everything would run its course. The appearance of the Lux Veritatis was merely a proof of the existence of a rival power that would balance the scales. But don’t think Samael was fair and beneficial. The Shadows War has created more victims and the blood has been spilled in a way that is not any less horrible just because it’s been discreet. I think He didn’t care they massacred each other as their energies were balanced and His lovely Wife lay sleeping next to Him. Just because he doesn’t intervene, He’s not better than those wicked He spawned and the whore who is His...”

_“_ _Cardinale_ _,”_ Bathsheba mocked with her cold eyes, “if I were you I wouldn’t give my opinion. Stick to what he told you, and leave your impressions for your cult. What was it that my father discovered that prompted him to commit such treachery?”

The Cardinal smiled a sad smile. “I don’t think you're ready to hear such a thing. Although for practical purposes this doesn’t change anything, and for us mortals it doesn’t mean so much, I'm sure if anyone else, _Nephili_ or Lux Veritatis, had known this, the shock would have created terrible consequences for them. Karel, of course, kept this to himself and invented other reasons... until he told it to me.”

“I must know.”

Monteleone smiled again - for the first time he seemed revived, and rising from the seat, he came limping to the girl. She stood up, angry, because she could barely stand such closer contact, but the old man didn’t flinch, and marvelling at the fragrance of that white skin, he put his lips to her ear and whispered a few words.

She moved aside so violently that her hair hit the cardinal’s face. “Liar!”

“Why should I lie? What do I have to lose, Blessed Daughter?”

“That wouldn’t make any sense! The Great Goddess never...would never have acted like that... that’s absurd!”

“It's true, and when Karel discovered that, he felt such panic - or whatever the _Nephili_ feel when they fear something, that he decided to silence the only voice which could tell that awful secret. Lilith’s one!”

Bathsheba sprang back as if the Cardinal’s clothes burned her, and looked at him angrily. “Impossible. My father lied to you, he lied for his own intentions...!”

“There, there. What intentions could he have with me, with a useless deacon?”

“It's absurd. Impossible. And even if there was a flash of truth... what does it matter...?”

“You tell me. You look shocked - but it’s true. Think about it. Maybe if we'd known it before, how much horror, how much death... we would have avoided.” He watched amazed how she bent in two, as if a burning pain was drilling her bowels. How fragile she seemed now that her most basic concepts had been shaken! “Blessed Daughter... listen...”

“Silence.”

“...now that you know the truth, you must take advantage of it. Don’t let your father's mistake, being silenced, destroy all hope. You shall not commit the same mistake.”

She recoiled, pressing against her the wrapped burden.

“Listen to me, Bathsheba. No matter what they say you should be. No matter whom your father was, or for what your mother bred you. You shouldn’t obey the dictates of the priestess who raised you, or that infernal goddess whom you think you serve.”

“Shut up now!”

“You are pure. You are immaculate - although they have tried to corrupt you, there's still time to stop what's coming. You must stop them at once! Now you know the truth. A disaster is coming, you see it coming. Over all, Lilith must not be awakened.”

“Shut up and die!”

“What your ancestors, cruel monsters without a drop of mortal blood in their veins, what your father couldn’t do, you must do. Stop this - not one more death, Bathsheba. Not one more demon to come into the Earth. You're still innocent, you’re still untouched by darkness... Bathsheba...” Suddenly, he gasped, trying to talk. The emerald eyes pierced him, furious. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. He bent on his knees. His face struck the floor carpet. “Bathsheba...”

She pursed her lips, furious. The Cardinal made titanic efforts to talk. “Don’t let yourself to be corrupted... in your hand is salvation... redeem your breed... forgive your enemies... Bathsheba... Bathsheba... if you don’t do it ... it won’t be done by anyone else...” The words were cut short. Suddenly he stopped breathing, his body suffered a couple of crackles, and then a gush of blood flowed from his mouth. He was dead.

She clenched her eyes tightly, her heart throbbing and her hands aching and sweaty from holding the bundle so hard.

“I'm not a mortals’ instrument.” The Nephilim gasped, gritting her teeth.

She turned violently and went towards the door. Then she paused, recalling with a grimace of disgust that she didn’t need to open doors. She looked around and, before vanishing into the air, she reached to the Virgin’s statue which innocently looked at her from a corner of the room, and slammed it furiously with her hand, shattering it on the floor.


	41. Golem

 

The young Pancratios went towards the table and left a cup of tea with which the monks would spend a sleepless night. He noted, sideways, the Healer absorbed in the study of the old codex and couldn't help saying with a sneer: “Devil's writings. Your Order must have fallen so low to resort to the ravings of a witch.”

Marcus looked the novice up and down. “I think, Pancratios, you shouldn't dump your bitterness on me either. That's also falling so low for someone who claims to be a Christian, don’t you think?”

The boy turned away and left. Marcus took the cup and sipped the herbal tea. If not for it, he would have already spent hours sleeping and drooling over the codex - even the fascinating text was too much for his old age and weakness.

 _“Bitter_ _is_ _the_ _sacrifice_ _of_ _a_ _mother_ _who_ _must_ _choose_ _between_ _her_ _children_ _,”_ he read, fingering the scroll, “ _dooming_ _one,_ _betraying_ _the_ _other,_ _saving_ _another_ _one.”_

“Sounds very strange.” Nikos was back there. There was no way to force him to rest - and he was still skinny and weak, as if his body were unable to recover the lost energy. Marcus was genuinely concerned about him, but he'd decided not to insist on it. “Has he been bothering you?” The _hegumenos_ said, gesturing towards the door. “Our Pancratios can be somewhat annoying at times.”

“You must have the patience of a saint with him.”

The hegumenos chuckled. “A martyr's patience! But tell me again what you found.”

“Not much. Listen to what it says about the Angel:

 _Flashpoint of the_ _avenging_ _sword_

 _You're_ _wielding,_ _with_ _trembling_ _hand,_

 _You_ _who_ _never_ _knew_ _the_ _touch_ _of_ _a_ _kiss,_

 _Whose_ _heart_ _beats_ _crazy_

 _Locked_ _between_ _the_ _spines_ _of_ _your_ _distress,_

 _Splashing_ _blood_ _around_ _you._

 _Your_ _offspring_ _have_ _to_ _kill_ _you,_

 _Because_ _you_ _were_ _born_ _for_ _love_

 _But_ _you_ _can_ _only_ _breed_ _hatred._

He let out a sigh and leaned back closing his eyes while Nikos looked at him, amused.

“This Sibilla was a really fascinating woman.” The Healer said.

“Brother, this is not a poetry contest. Lives are at stake.”

Marcus blinked. “I know - but it would be inhuman not to be caught up by this. Don't forget that the classical Sibyl was a prophetess inspired by divinity.”

“By Satan, in this case.” The _hegumenos_ sputtered.

“A supernatural being who speaks through her mouth. I... I think if we don't strip these lines of prophecy, nothing or no one will. But my findings have been more specific with the figure of the Wise.” He cleared his throat and leaned back on the codex.

 _You_ _who_ _have_ _come_ _to_ _interpret_

 _What_ _my_ _mouth_ _said_ _centuries_ _ago_

 _You,_ _who_ _are_ _the_ _last_ _and_ _you're_ _alone_

 _You who_ _count_ _the_ _fast_ _seconds_

 _Which_ _lead_ _you_ _to_ _sister_ _Death_

 _You,_ _with_ _all_ _your_ _knowledge,_ _nothing_ _will_ _change,_

 _But_ _without_ _you_ _nothing_ _would_ _change._

He leaned back and looked at a stunned Nikos. “Well, looks like she's talking about you, Brother Healer. You must be the Wise.”

“That frightens me.”

“Why? The other two candidates are discarded. The Turkish girl is dying and the Romanian professor was murdered - and here, right now, there's only one Wise who could interpret what her mouth has announced.”

Marcus shook his head and closed his eyes - he was so tired... Then he felt the _hegumenos_ ' comforting hand on his shoulder: “Maybe that's why you survived. They kept you alive first, imprisoned for some reason, all to reach this day, this hour, when you're interpreting the song of a Sibyl. Nothing happens by chance, Marcus.”

“I can't believe the reason for Eckhardt, Karel, and finally Boaz to keep me alive was to become an obstacle to Lilith's plans.”

“No one says you're an obstacle. Sibilla said that you would change nothing.”

“She says also that without me nothing would change.”

“Such are the contradictory Sibyls, or perhaps our minds are short of understanding and don't have enough knowledge.” Nikos laughed.

Suddenly, an explosion was heard in the silence of the night, leaving them startled. Used to reacting to danger, Marcus stood, clutching the manuscript to his chest.

“That came from outside!” Nikos said turning around.

“Yes,” Marcus muttered, “it's gunfire.”

 

* * *

 

“I need to see her again”.

She truly was headstrong, for the Light's sake!

“You heard her.” Kurtis replied calmly. “She doesn't like intruders. Better to stay out her way.”

“C'mon, Mr. Trent, a little witch who doesn't even reach your belt has frightened you?”

He turned towards Lara, who looked at him expectantly. “What frightens me are the forces that protect her.”

“You saw something in her, right? You think it's true what she said?”

Kurtis didn't answer. Lara let out a sigh of exasperation. “Really, sometimes I can't understand you.”

“I'm a very understandable man, Lara. I don't play with fire - I know I can get burnt. But even if you get burnt you keep playing with it.” Assuming the discussion was over he raised the canvas and left the tent.

Lara's mouth twitched - it wasn't easy to deal with Kurtis when he smelled danger. No doubt he'd developed a sense of survival in a really hard way, but for Lara risks should be taken in order to get results.

“May I enter?” It was William's voice.

“Of course.” Lara said, wiping the sweat from her brow.

The ruddy archaeologist looked at her grimly - something was wrong with him. He'd always been a good partner, but now seemed to distrust her. No doubt the conversation would be about it. “Why are we here?” He said with a gesture of despair. “For a while I harbored the hope of reopening the excavation and restoring this jewel for knowledge. But now Wilbur has told me all you've done is sneak through a hole and visit a supposed witch who lives in the temple. What the hell's going on?”

She smiled patiently. “It's hard to understand, but I didn't lie to you, William. We're looking for an entrance to...”

“Hell, Lara! You're rambling! Tell me the truth! What are you plotting, both you and that lover of yours? You think I didn't notice that every night you bring him in your bed?”

Lara stood as driven by a spring. “Is that your business, huh? When I want someone to nose into my life I'll call on the British _paparazzi!”_

“I haven't come to watch you bang that...”

So _that_ was it - Lara couldn't believe it. “You're just jealous!” She whispered, astonished. That sentence cut William's verbiage, who glanced at her with resentment. He'd intended to disguise that, but here it was. After all that time... “William, I was clear when...”

“Oh, you were _clear!_ Lady Croft rejected me in a very graceful manner after this commoner was encouraged by false hopes of...

“I didn't give you false hopes, William!”

“Of course not! You just flirt with every living creature, and when a poor wretch thinks he can aspire to something more than your glances and your endless waltz, you crush him with your heel - as you crushed me! Are you also playing with him, bitch?”

It was surreal. But she had to cut that off. “Stop it, William. You should have known I wasn't interested in you. I don't play with men who don't interest me. I have my own problems.”

“You really think I forget so easily, as you forgot me? Seems the poor son of a worker is not adequate to the _Duchess_ _of_ _Saint_ _Bridget_.

“Get the hell outta here.” Lara muttered, blushing in rage. How dare he call her by her loathed title?

But William wasn't over. “Tell me, what the highest and most chaste British aristocracy will think when they learn that Lord Croft's daughter, that rebel stray bullet, is now pregnant and unmarried from a nobody mercenary with an obscure past? It will be really exciting!”

Lara stared at him speechless. He intended to damage her seriously - and he was perfectly able to do it.

“C'mon, Lara! You really think I wouldn't notice? I'm not a queer like my brother, who looks at a lunch menu with more scrutiny than he does a woman. But I'm not stupid! How long will you be able to hide it, huh?”

That was enough. The British explorer jumped from her seat and stood before William, with her face so close to his that he drew back, startled. “Go to hell.” She muttered.

And passing next to him, she left the tent.

 

* * *

 

Kurtis plunged his hand into the bowl of water and splashed his face. At dusk the temperature was cooling, but even after a while his skin would be burning. He'd always had a body temperature above the usual in other humans, as if having a slight fever. Lara had been concerned at first, until he'd assured her, laughing, that was typical of a Lux Veritatis - only he didn't know why. According to the sages of the Council, something related to the Gift's flow.

He fixed his eyes on the horizon. The Temple of Astarte - or Lilith, if one referred to Lara's theory - was the only structure in miles around besides the small camp. But even at that distance Kurtis was able to distinguish two forms walking down the road.

“May I speak to you?”

He turned so abruptly that Maddalena yelped and backed away.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

“Nevermind.” She smiled, and looked at him languidly with those golden eyes. If only she stopped looking at him like _that_. She seemed like a thirsty person looking at a spring of fresh water. No, Maddalena seemed about to die of dehydration, and he must have looked like an entire lake. She stared at him as if about to drink him up. “What did you want?”

But she reached out and touched his arm. “You're burning!” She muttered shocked. “Are you sick again?” Was it real concern for his condition or the lovely ploy of an expert in seduction?

Probably both, he thought with dismay. It was hard to categorically refuse someone so loyal and friendly. “It's normal, don't worry.” He replied, not wanting to go into further details.

She didn't seem convinced, but she withdrew her hand. “I'm worried. I think we'll have problems soon.”

“Problems?”

“I believe William is suspicious of us. He's been harassing me all the time with frantic questions. I didn't want to say anything but he hasn't stopped chasing me.”

“You did well, Giulia.”

“He seemed especially interested in your relationship with Lara.” The Italian woman was twisting a red loop as she spoke. It was evident she found it painful to mention. “I think he's only going to damage us. We shouldn't have got them into this, and we'd better get rid of them before they give us real trouble.”

Curiously, Kurtis fully agreed with that - but it had been Lara's idea and when she insisted in something it was impossible to bend her will. Even Maddalena, whom Lara thought was just a tacky whore, had been smart enough to have noticed that.

“You're right. I tried to talk to her but she's very stubborn. Although I feel more uneasy about the Sibilla issue.”

The redhead listened to him with total interest. How many times Lara had listened to him like that, had requested his opinion, had found worthy what he thought? Not too many times, really. Her personality was so strong and overwhelming even rolled up with him, who wasn't a weak spirit at all. But there he was, trusting a stranger who'd fallen madly in love with him and listened to him with total adoration. Perhaps that was the difference between her love and Lara's love.

Then Kurtis realized that would only bring more complications. He decided to leave the conversation there, so he apologized and turned away. Maddalena, upset, started to say something, but then she fell silent when noticing two people approaching from the road.

Kurtis smiled, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Marie Cornel's silhouette, tall and wiry, was unmistakable. At her side, the slender Radha smiled shyly. “You've no idea what a journey have we had! In one and a half day, from Romania to Syria - and then we had to walk from Damascus.”

“That's a thing you would do.” Kurtis mocked, hugging her.

“Ugh!” The Navajo woman backed away. “I'd forgotten that sometimes you're a furnace! Move away, you'll make me catch on fire. Hi, Giulia.” She politely added, nodding towards the redhead.

Maddalena waved back, cautious. That clever old woman should already be aware that she was the third one in a love triangle, but she still showed no signs of knowing that.

“Why did you come?” Kurtis asked then. “Now things are a little calm, but that doesn't mean...”

“Didn't Marcus tell you?” Marie interrupted him, startled.

“Marcus? No. But anyway, we've spent several days without connection. The site’s not suitable.”

Marie shook her head and covered her face with her hands.

“What happened?”

He would've wanted to control it, but farsee came to him by instinct and suddenly raided the images from her mind, coming one after another faster and faster.

 _A_ _bloody_ _hook._ _A_ _hospital_ _corridor._ _A_ _Swiss_ _knife_ _lying_ _on_ _the_ _floor._ _Blood_ _on_ _the_ _carpet._ _Guts_ _stuck_ _out_ _her_ _wound._ _Torn_ _flesh._ _His_ _skull_ _has_ _been_ _crushed_ _by_ _a_ _hit._ _Cries_ _of_ _pain!_ _She's_ _not_ _breathing,_ _she's_ _not_ _breathing._ _If_ _she_ _doesn't_ _breath_ _on her own_ _she_ _won't_ _wake_ _up._ _Poor_ _man,_ _he_ _just_ _tried_ _to_ _defend_ _himself._ _They_ _hung_ _her_ _like_ _a piece of_ _beef._ _They_ _have_ _scattered_ _his_ _brains_ _over_ _the_ _floor._ _Now_ _he_ _sleeps_ _underground._ _She_ _has_ _tubes_ _in_ _her_ _throat._ _She_ _doesn't_ _breathe_ _on_ _her_ _own._ _Zip_ _cries._ _Revenge_ _._ _Innocent_ _flesh._ _Crying_ _meat._ _They_ _shout._ _Revenge_ _._ _Revenge_ _._ _They've_ _paid_ _for_ _you._ _He_ _died_ _for_ _you._ _She's_ _dying_ _for_ _you._ _That_ _hatred_ _is_ _because_ _of_ _you,_ _but_ _they_ _have_ _suffered_ _it_ _instead_ _of_ _you._

The blood rushed to his brain, pressure increasing in his temples. His head was about to explode. He screamed in a horrible way.

“Kurtis!”

It had happened again. Lara's dream. Selma was yelling, but she'd no voice. Selma... Ivanoff... Selma... Ivanoff... the pain was unbearable. A red light blinded his eyes. His mouth tasted like blood. His skin was going to burst into flames.

“Kurtis, breathe!”

 _Why?_ _He_ _doesn't_ _breathe anymore,_ _she_ _can't_ _do_ _it_ _on her own_ _._ _Y_ _ou_ _think_ _you_ _have_ _the_ _right_ _to_ _breathe,_ _to_ _live,_ _when_ _they_ _no_ _longer_ _can?_ _How_ _naive_ _you_ _were._ _You_ _wanted_ _to_ _save_ _them,_ _protect_ _them,_ _but_ _you're_ _so_ _cursed_ _that_ _the_ _same_ _curse_ _either_ _goes_ _with_ _you_ _or_ _remains_ _to_ _destroy_ _the_ _innocent_ _you_ _thought_ _to_ _love._ _It_ _was_ _easier_ _to_ _die,_ _let_ _it_ _die_ _out_ _with_ _you._ _You_ _tried,_ _but_ _you're_ _too_ _strong._ _So_ _they_ _will_ _die_ _for_ _you,_ _until_ _you're_ _alone,_ _until_ _there's_ _no_ _one_ _left_ _to_ _love,_ _and_ _only_ _then_ _you'll_ _succumb..._ _you'll_ _be_ _theirs..._

His head exploded in a liquid fire, and then darkness came.

 

* * *

 

“Hush, he's waking up.”

The painful pounding in his head didn't remit. It was like hammers crushing his head, like nails sinking into his temples. A hot liquid ran up his throat and he spat it in an attempt to breathe.

The images were blurry, but he saw Lara and Marie next to him. Behind them, Maddalena and Radha were watching the scene, scared. The twins were not seen anywhere.

“Is this normal?” He heard Lara asking, visibly concerned.

“To some extent, yes. Farsee is a skill hard to control and has caught him off guard. He could've died, but luckily the blood pressure...”

 _“He_ _could_ _have_ _died?_ _”_ Lara interrupted, looking horrified at Marie, who smiled.

“It's always like this, Lara. The Gift is paid with both body and mind. Don't worry. He's very familiar with death risk. We all were.” The Navajo woman concluded with a sinister voice.

“Mother, stop scaring her.” Kurtis gurgled, trying to get up.

Two pairs of hands rested on his chest and forced him to lay again. “Be still!” Marie said. “And now all of you, get outta here! This is not a show!”

That meant both Maddalena and Radha had to leave the tent, then she followed them and left Lara with him. He was sure she'd ensured the twins were out of there too.

“You scared me to death.” Lara said, passing a handkerchief over his mouth. Kurtis noticed the fabric had reddened.

“I didn't see that coming.” He said. “Sorry, musta been a spooky show.”

“Nevermind. I told the twins you're epileptic.” Noticing Kurtis' resentful glance, she laughed. “C'mon! What else did you expect me to say?

“Very clever of you.” He hardly sat and rested his shoulders on the pillow that Lara relocated. Then he looked at her tenderly. “You're screwed, darling, with two children at your expense.”

Lara laughed again. “I'll handle it. I'm good at improvising.”

Watching her, Kurtis noticed she still looked upset, but she didn't look like she knew about the sad news. He frowned. “Did my mother tell you what happened to me?”

“A farsee vision.”

“But did she tell you what I saw?”

“How was she supposed to know?”

Kurtis swore. “She already knew - and I was so naive to focus on other things, so I didn’t see it until now. _Now!”_ He clenched his fists and sank his head on them, frustrated. “Now I can't do anything for them!”

“For whom?” Lara jumped, startled.

It was meaningless to hide it longer. “Ivanoff is dead and Selma is comatose since we left Romania.”

 _“_ _What?_ _”_ Lara shouted, stunned.

Kurtis closed his eyes. “Two days after we left, that bitch Giselle Boaz arrived with her thugs to Brasov. She was following our tracks and when not finding us she made them pay for it. She commanded Selma to be hung and gutted with a hook.” He tried to ignore Lara's gasp. “She almost died, but was saved in the hospital, although she has been plunged into a vegetative coma. Then they murdered Vlad by crushing his skull with a strike, set fire to his office and destroyed all documents and Zip's computer.” He knew it as if he'd been there, but it had come to him too late!

He opened his eyes. Lara was shocked. She put her hands to her mouth and bent, as if she'd been hit. “We left to protect them!”

“We were wrong, Lara. I was wrong. This damn Gift that makes me as miserable as it does unique didn't warn me before. It's as if the odds are against us.”

But she wasn't listening. She embraced herself and began to swing, tormented. Ivanoff had died. Poor Ivanoff, so weak, so harmless...

“He tried to defend himself with that ridiculous fruit peeler.” Kurtis said bitterly.

Selma! Sweet, lovely Selma. She, who'd never stepped on an ant... hanged and gutted... and it was their fault!

“The dream, Kurtis!” Lara groaned. “She screamed and _I_ _couldn't_ _hear_ _her!_ That's what she was trying to tell me?”

“I don't know, Lara. I wish I knew everything.”

She grabbed her head and bent further. Selma... Vlad... Selma... Vlad...

“Now you know how it feels.” Kurtis sighed. “Now you fully understand why I wanted you away from me. Why I left you.”

Lara looked up at him. Her eyes welled with tears involuntarily, she who was proud like a goddess. Kurtis tried to hug her, but she refused, with a terrible glance in her reddened eyes. “A life for a life.” She hissed through clenched teeth. “That's what the Angel's Oracle told me two years ago, when I chose you instead of Karel, when I saved your life and sentenced him. I killed a Nephilim. I can kill _anyone_. And I'll avenge all of them, one by one. They will pay for what they've done.”

“A life for a life.” Kurtis nodded, breathing hard. “Giselle Boaz will die!”

 

* * *

 

Zip got used to it.

Every day was the same. He got up, had breakfast and went up to wait patiently. He stood for hours looking through the glass, until the doctor arrived and allowed him to enter and spend some time with her.

The hacker recalled that some time ago, being disconnected from the Internet more than a day would have made him mad with anxiety. Now none of that made sense. His whole world had collapsed and its ashes had been swept away by the certainty that Selma would never wake up.

However, Zip had got used to living like this. He was even forgetting how her voice sounded when she laughed, when she spoke, how she moved and breathed. All memory faded at the sight of that white, still figure.

A vibration caught his attention. He looked up. Selma's breast had shuddered under her nightgown. He jumped from his chair and approached her. But again she'd remained still. He returned to his chair uneasily.

Disconnection sessions had not worked. Selma wasn't breathing, and her maintenance was expensive. She seemed not to leave her comatose state ever. Was not it better to release her, let her rest? Would she have enjoyed being kept alive?

 _No!_ He'd shouted. _No!_ But which death did he actually want to avoid, Selma's or his own? Because when Selma died, he would climb to Bran's pinnacle and cast himself into the void. He would have nothing left.

 _Our_ _death,_ _my_ _princess._ _The_ _death_ _of_ _both_ _of_ _us._

The fabric vibrated again. Zip jumped back. “Nurse! Nurse!” Soon, the doctor was there. “I saw her moving! I swear! She moved!”

The surgeon, frowning, bent over her, and at once uttered an exclamation of astonishment - then he laughed. “We can definitely turn her off!”

Zip couldn't believe it. “Have you lost your mind, you damn quack?”

The doctor turned his face towards him and smiled. “Don't you see, my little fool? _She's_ _breathing_ _on_ _her_ _own!”_

 

* * *

 

So terrible was the revelation, and so strong her desire for revenge, that she forgot to tell Kurtis about the argument with William. Anyway, Ivanoff's murder and Selma's sad status turned everything else insignificant.

That night, Lara, alone in her bed, was seething with rage. Kurtis had left to stand guard at night and she couldn't sleep. She wished to put a gun into Giselle's mouth and fire. She wanted to destroy Bathsheba's pretty face with a bullet. She felt such desire to kill until drowning in her own thirst for blood.

Oh, they would pay. Sorrow for sorrow, they would pay. That convinced her more than ever to carry out her plan to trick Bathsheba - but first she must ask for advice...

A sound brought her out of her thoughts on the boil. There was someone lurking outside. The British explorer noticed a shadow. Well, maybe Kurtis. It would be nice if he came back - perhaps he'll help her sleep...

The canvas fabric rose sharply and a dark shadow fell upon her. Lara tried to get up but the assaulter fell on her with his tremendous weight. She tried to scream, but a huge paw blocked her mouth. The weight was suffocating and was crushing her belly. She squirmed, but that figure completely covered her.

Her attacker's skin - a man certainly, was cold as ice, and gave off a foul foetid breath. She heard a rattling wheezing like animals, and then she noticed the hardness of his erect member against her strangled belly.

Lara wriggled like an eel, but failed to release herself even though she was very strong. The big hand was still gripping her mouth, and suddenly, her attacker slammed his fist against her face with a tremendous punch. Her cheekbone broke with pain.

She resisted furiously, and suddenly he beat her again, once, twice, three times, until her face was burning in pain and her mouth filled with blood. The British explorer fell back, stunned. In other circumstances she could have escaped from her attacker, but not in such a tiny space or while he was crushing her with all his weight.

Lara tried to yell, but again a punch cut her off breath. She collapsed, defeated, and her assailant gripped her hips with his strong knees, then grabbed her by the neck to make sure she wouldn't attempt to shout again and with the other hand grabbed her nightgown and ripped it, tearing the fabric. Then that hateful hand began to brutally grope her breasts and belly.

Unbelievable! After a whole life of extreme danger endured, after having risked her life a thousand times, a man was about to rape her in her own bed!

Who was he? Lara couldn't see him in the dark, but sure as hell it was _not_ Kurtis. He'd never hurt her, although he was sometimes aggressive at sex - which, on the other hand, she liked, but he'd never rape her, not even drunk, and she'd never seen him drunk. Therefore, it could only be William.

The British explorer felt disgusted and infuriated. How dare he? He didn't even care she was pregnant!

At that moment, he raised his knee and pressed his weight between her thighs trying to separate them. Lara resisted with all her soul and again received blows on the face, one fell on her stomach and she bent in pain.

What if she surrendered? She could let him do – it would be over soon. But the mere idea of being raped made her shiver with disgust. Putai was right - she wasn't a woman to take that. No one had ever raped her, and he who'd tried had paid with his life. But now she was helpless – not to mention there was a chance that once relieved, he tried to kill her anyway. But if she continued to fight back he'd beat her to death.

Then Lara realized what she'd to do - she stopped resisting and finally her attacker separated her legs. The British explorer sobbed to make him believe he'd win, and was surprised to notice that relieved her, such was the pain she felt. The tears fell on her face cuts and stung, for her nose and mouth were bleeding, but she didn't dare move.

The man bit the bait - he released her and stood to unzip his pants. With an imperceptible movement, Lara slid her arm under the pillow and searched, praying that her knife was there. It was! She grabbed the handle and gently removed it from its scabbard. It might also hurt her, but anything seemed better than to endure the terrible humiliation that awaited her.

Her attacker was lying now on her, still running over her body with his filthy hands. Lara, meaning she was no longer resistive, raised her legs and pushed her knees to the hips of the man. In the darkness, she lifted her arms with both hands holding the handle. She trembled, but the other, focused on fingering and biting her breasts, didn't noticed. Lara tried to hold in her nausea.

The tip of the knife was pointing at his back. She had to figure out exactly where to sink the blade - pretty difficult to do in the darkness, for she'd also hurt herself, but risks should be taken.

Suddenly, he grabbed her by the shoulders, and fearing he will discover her raised arms, Lara took deep breath, lowered them sharply and plunged the blade into his arched back, to the hilt, with all her remaining strength.

Her attacker stood still for a moment, and she feared not having hit him, but then he released an inhuman scream, stood up and writhed convulsively.

Lara hadn't failed. The wound was fatal.

He kept screaming as Lara felt a rain of hot liquid, blood, splashing her nude body. She tried to get up, but the attacker's hands grabbed her by the neck.

Suddenly the canvas of the tent raised and she heard a cry of rage. A dark shadow crossed the tiny space in a stride and she distinguished Kurtis' silhouette at backlit. He unleashed a terrible kick on the attacker's jaw, hitting him with such force that it threw him down. The Lux Veritatis gave him no time to move, but fell upon him and she heard them struggling, then a metallic sound, and suddenly the screaming ceased.

Someone came in carrying a lantern. Lara was willing to cover her bared body, but it was only Marie. The Navajo woman was looking at her horrified. “Oh, dear!” Lara's face must be looking horrible.

Kurtis was now with her. “Did you kill him?” Lara mumbled through a mouthful of blood.

“No.” He answered, his voice tense. “You killed him. I only finished him.” According to the expression on his face, he blamed himself for not having been there before.

“Looks like nothing's broken.” Marie was touching her. “I will take care of the blows. Let me touch your belly.”

But Lara refused her and looked at Kurtis: “Who is it? Who?”

The Lux Veritatis put an arm around her waist and helped her up. They went to the corpse, and then he kicked it to make it face up.

She'd been right. He was one of the twins - but not the one she'd expected.

Despite their great likeness, she recognized the medal that only he used to carry. A bloody medal.

Lara shrank and screamed in pain. It was Wilbur.

 

* * *

 

 _“Murderer_ _!”_ The veins in William’s temples were swollen and his eyes bloodshot. He looked at Lara with a hatred she hadn't long seen in the eyes of an enemy. “Murderer!” He repeated. “You killed him!”

It was a sad scene. Lara and Kurtis were in front of him, his twin's corpse was on a table between them, and Maddalena, Radha and Marie watched in silence.

“It was self-defense.” Lara argued. “He tried to rape me.” She didn't notice Maddalena shuddering at that, for her eyes were fixed on William, who suddenly seemed to choke.

“Rape you?” He yelled. _“My brother?_ Are you fuckin' kiddin' me, bitch?” He stepped forward and Lara noticed Kurtis stiffening, trying to control himself and not punch him in the face. She touched the Lux Veritatis' wrist slightly, though she was almost willing to let him to shut William up.

Surprisingly, then Kurtis intervened: “So what if he didn't like women? It's not _that_ simple. I've been in the Legion, where rapists didn't care whether boy or girl, I can tell.”

“Well, then probably it was y _ou_ who tried to rape her!”

Marie stood up suddenly and surrounding Radha's shoulder took her away, considering the conversation not suitable for the girl, although the Indian teen probably didn't understand it and was more mature than they thought.

“That's ridiculous, William, and you know it.” Lara said, exhausted. “I'm shocked for what happened, but I never suspected it could be Wilbur.  He could have killed me. I had to fight back.”

But he clearly didn't believe her - at the end of the day, who could blame him? She herself couldn't believe what had just happened!

Kurtis, more practical, decided: “Guess you want to take your brother's body back to America.”

William spat at his feet. “You also have things to answer for!” He looked from one to the other. “I'll accuse you! Both of you! I'll have you charged with murder and you'll end up behind bars!”

“I'm done.” Lara snapped, turning around and leaving the tent. Maddalena followed her. But Kurtis stared at William. The American archaeologist held his gaze for a moment, then he sat beside the corpse, covered by a sheet, of his brother.

The Lux Veritatis wasn't done yet. He came to the corpse and took his hand, sticking out under the blanket. “Look at this.” William ostensibly turned his head and frowned. Under the nails of his brother were small strips of peeled off skin. “It's Lara's.” Kurtis took a deep breath. “Your brother grabbed her by the neck and scratched her chest. Are you still in denial?”

William's lips trembled. He was coming down. “My brother,” he gasped, “was always loving and respectful. In his whole life he didn't hurt anything or anyone, not even a fly. He just did good to those around him. I can't believe he attacked her, and even less that he raped her.”

Kurtis also couldn't believe it, since Wilbur had proved to be harmless - but he was not wasting finesses with the man who'd lost his brother. Lara had been mercilessly beaten and could have been raped and killed. The Fighter had neither been able to avoid Ivanoff's death and Selma's status. He felt angry and helpless, and for the first time he spoke to a God he didn't believe in.

 _Why_ _I_ _was_ _given_ _a_ _Gift_ _if_ _I_ _can't_ _use_ _it_ _to_ _protect_ _anyone?_

 

* * *

 

Lara endured, without complaint, Marie touching and examining her face, which hurt like hell. Maddalena was horrified: Wilbur's fist had beaten her so viciously that his knuckles had cut her skin, opening bloody furrows. The British explorer could hardly breathe, for her nose was swollen and filled with dried blood, and only by a miracle it hadn't been broken. Most of her face had acquired a horrible purple coloring, not to mention she already had one eye closed because of swelling. Her lips weren't less swollen and covered with scabs. Incredible, too, she hadn't any teeth broken.

“You've been very lucky. Again.” Marie said, smiling bravely, and extended an ointment on the blows.

Maddalena was surprised of Lara's meekness towards Marie, but then she remembered that woman had once saved her life, when Monteleone shot her, so it wasn't surprising that she was at least grateful to her.

At that moment, the Italian woman recalled Monteleone, the man whom she'd loved. She wondered if he wouldn't have sent some men looking for her, and if he'd miss her.

She still didn't know he was dead.

“Well, that's all.” Marie determined.

“Give me a mirror.” Lara asked Maddalena. She knew the ex-prostitute was always carrying beauty items out of habit.

“Lara, you don't look good.” Marie said. “No need to...”

But the redhead had already given Lara her round pocket mirror - for some reason she expected Lara's reaction. The British explorer brought the mirror to her face and watched herself carefully. She didn't react, but quietly assessed the damage.

Maddalena had never seen such an amazing woman.

Then Lara sighed and handed back the mirror to the redhead. “Well I hope your son doesn't mistake me for a demon at night.” She sneered at Marie, who couldn't help but laugh at the comment.

“C'mon, Radha.” The Navajo woman told the girl. She, however, grabbed Lara's arm and said: “Please, let me stay with her, Marie.”

“Lara's exhausted, Radha, better to...”

“Let her, Marie.” The British explorer smiled through her cracked lips. “Will send her to your tent later.”

The Navajo woman nodded and left. Maddalena moved to leave also, but suddenly turned towards Lara, who looked at the redhead, stunned.

The Italian's golden eyes were filled with tears. She blinked to clear them and said what she never wanted to say: “I admire you, Lara. I wish I were as strong as you.” She hesitated, then added quickly. “When men did that to me, I never had the courage to fight back.” Then she turned and hurried out without giving time to Lara to reply, ashamed of having shown weakness before who she regarded as her rival.

Lara stood silent for a moment, stunned. Then she noticed Radha looking at her. “She knows what she means, _bahanji_. That evil man, who came to the Island with the other mercenaries, raped her.”

The British explorer arched her eyebrows in amazement. “You mean Sciarra? He raped her?”

Radha made a fuss with her hand. “Don't know if that was his name. But yes, I saw it. He raped her so I killed him.”

Lara winced and put her hand to her cheek in a gesture of pain. “What...?” Radha, killing someone? Radha, sweet and harmless, with her big eyes and her tender and candid smile? Killing someone? “Did you kill Sciarra?” The feat was as incredible as that monster was unscrupulous. She, a fifteen-year-old girl, had killed him!

“I killed him because I hate men doing that to women.” She frowned. “A man did the same to me long ago. Then I swore to Durga that if someone tried to do that to me again, or I saw another unfortunate like me suffering that, I'd kill or die. You can't break an oath made to Durga.”

Despite Radha's poor English, the revelation was stunning, shocking. Lara would've never expected anything like this in Radha! Never! “I thought Kurtis saved you...” The British explorer stammered.

“He did, _bahanji_. But later I was given to another man... that's it. I also admire you. She's right. You're strong and brave.”

Radha admired _her?_ Jesus, she'd killed Sciarra! That changed everything. The Indian teen wasn't a timid and helpless little girl!

“I should have taken care of you.” Lara muttered, confused.

Radha just smiled. So candidly. “I'm fine. Mrs. Marie is good with me and cares for me.”

 _For_ _if_ _this_ _is_ _so,_ _you_ _don't_ _need_ _anyone_ _to_ _look_ _after_ _you,_ _amazing_ _creature._

“Radha...” Lara murmured then. “I don't think I can even sleep tonight. Would you tell me your story?

“My story?” The girl blinked.

“Not your childhood before the Legion. What happened to you afterwards, until you met me. Would you tell me?”

The Indian girl wrinkled her nose. “It's a very ugly story.”

“As you can see,” Lara said, stroking her swollen cheek, “I'm more than used to the ugliness of this world.”

The girl nodded and smiled, and then began her story.

 

* * *

 

“Makarios!” Nikos shouted, leaving the hall. “What's happening?

The old monk who used to do night guard was coming towards them, his face contorted: _“Pa_ _téras!”_ He shouted. “Tell the young, we're being..!”

Behind him appeared a black shadow who grabbed him by the neck. Nikos saw a glint of metal and instantly a jet of blood emerging from Makarios' open throat. The old man collapsed on the floor without a whimper.

The murderer stepped forward - and after him another one, and another. Nikos was looking in the face of death.

He turned and ran down the hall. The horde of men went after him, but he soon reached the door and closed it. Marcus looked at him, stunned.

“Brother!” The _hegumenos_ cried. “Help me jam this!”

The old Healer pushed the heavy desk against the door with his weak strength. They heard a gun cocking and threw themselves to the ground at the time a burst of shrapnel splintered the wood of the door.

“We've no way out!” Marcus yelled.

But Nikos shook his head. “There's always a way out.” He crawled towards a hatch the Lux Veritatis hadn't seen before. “Bring the codex!”

The door had begun to vibrate constantly, assaulted by blows from the outside. There were gunfire, oaths, and scurrying down the hall. They were attacking the monastery!

The trapdoor leaded to a stone staircase and they descended rapidly.

“If we can go this way, they also will!”

“I know, but I must warn everyone! The bell must be rang!” The _hegumenos_ gasped. “Who would attack this sacred place, full of innocent men?”

“The Cabal.” Marcus snorted behind him . “Those are Giselle's men.”

 

* * *

 

Kurtis came out to breathe. He'd gone to see Lara and had found her talking with Radha. He hadn't wanted to bother her, but felt his blood boiling in rage when seeing her beaten face. Lara could take care of herself but she wasn't invulnerable or invincible - and he should have been there for her.

He wasn't surprised to discover Maddalena nearby, next to the still hot embers of the camp fire. She looked herself in a rounded mirror and was tweaking the _rouge_ of her lips. The Lux Veritatis couldn't avoid smiling. It was funny to see someone putting on lipstick in a desert. Must be a deep-rooted habit in her.

He sat opposite of her, who lifted her eyes and looked at him. “You should get some sleep.” The redhead murmured. “It's been a hard day and you had no time to rest.”

Kurtis wondered if all women had a little Marie Cornel on the inside. “Look what happened.” He muttered, picking up a stick and breaking it. “Anyway, I haven't slept much for years.”

Maddalena closed the lipstick and put away the mirror. Then she stared at him. “That priestess knows things.”

“The Sibilla?”

“Yes, well, the prophetess. If prophets know everything, she may be able to help us, right?”

“She wasn't willing to cooperate with us.”

“Then, put a gun in her face.”

The man looked up at her, but Maddalena didn't seem to be joking. “I don't threaten those who're no threat to me.”

“According to what you said, she's not a harmless kid. I think the more we wait, the more terrible things will happen to us. We must anticipate events, otherwise the events will anticipate us.” She shuddered at feeling Kurtis' piercing eyes fixed on her - for such a glance she would've given her life.

“And all this is suggested by _her_.”

“Who?” Maddalena was stunned.

“She who dwells within you. They're so smart, huh? When they talk, everything seems so easy, right?”

The redhead flushed. Then she muttered: “You're wrong, I...”

“Just for the record: despite my constant failures, I'm clairvoyant and I’m _not_ stupid. I know the Voice hasn't left you alone. Demons can't hide from me, as I can't hide from them.”

Maddalena took a deep breath: “She always talks to me, but she doesn't harm me anymore.”

“Her presence is harmful. She's like a spy for a higher evil which hangs over us.”

“I tell you! She doesn't manipulate my thoughts, nor tell me what to say...”

“No. They only whisper ideas, tips, projects, and they're so damn smart that it seems easier if you just follow their commands. I can't do more for you, Giulia, but for the good of us all, don't listen to that thing. She just wants our destruction, even if she's being nice to you.”

Before she could answer, William appeared and ran towards them, his face contorted. He had such look of panic on his face that Kurtis rose immediately:

“Hey, you!” The American archaeologist called out.

“Name's Kurtis.”

“Kurtis!” He was too terrified to be pedantic. “Come, quickly! _Something_ _awful_ _is_ _happening_ _to_ _my_ _brother's_ _corpse!”_

 

* * *

 

In the darkness of her cave, dimly lit by the vague, dancing lights issued by the embers of the fire, not used for heating but for cooking substances, the Sibilla lifted up her blind eyes to the rocky ceiling, feeling again the presence of the creature.

It was a Golem.

She sighed and turned her face to the warmth of the fluctuating fire. A Golem was a rough strategy for the Lords she served, even if they used the soul of a cruel man in a docile and malleable body. She wondered why they were that careful. Yes, the Lux Veritatis was dangerous, but _that_ _much?_ The prophetess had scanned his aura, which shone bright amid the perpetual darkness in which she dwelled, and hadn't seen more than a gaping hole. Who could see beyond her? Yes, he was an unique man, infinitely powerful, but yet not a worthy rival of her Lords. A mortal could _never_ be a rival of immortals. Had he destroyed the last Nephilim? Yes, but even _that_ was expected. He who in life had called himself Karel had corrupted himself through his dreams of redemption and recreation, to the point of mixing with mortals and descending to their level.

The Sibilla no longer considered herself a mortal. Thousands of mortal lives she'd trodden on the earth and the creature she was now was far from that ancient pagan girl whom the Darkest Lord had blessed with a gift which would've made the envy of Apollo's gift. She, who like Cassandra herself would've given her virginity and life for the gift of prophecy, she'd met a Being who was above all the gods she knew - and He hadn't asked for anything in return.

She didn't even remember her name, given by a mother whom she never returned to. _Sibilla_ _Satanica._ _Sibilla_ _Satanica._ Until the end of time.

She was very tired. After all, Samael Himself had asked her something in return. Her body, her life. But yet then it was a very little loss for her, who wanted to be a banquet of the gods, who wanted nothing with mortals. Now, having lived a few hundred lives, she felt the oppressive weight of her eternal mission, a weight she couldn't resist anymore.

“My Lord Samael, why don't you take me with You?” She whispered, exhausted. “I can't help. I need to be taken away by Your black wings to Your burning bosom. I can't withstand the weight of the world anymore.” She grabbed the bones which decorated her neck and whispered: “The Lux Veritatis' worthless. He could be a good specimen, but hate and pain had already consumed him. He's not but a vague shadow, eager to sacrifice. He won't survive the Bitter Path, since only the strong can overcome it, and his strength is not of that kind. His strength is just physical. With each dim glow of his aura I've seen Death calling loudly for him. He endured an unworthy torture from which he could've escaped easily. He's really fascinating, but I think he's not your goal, My Dark Lord, or your Holy Bride's one.”

“But who is then, my Lord? The female explorer? She's clever and brave, but she's just a mortal. If she destroyed Your last child, it was for his weakness, as You know. No, she'll succumb too. Bitter Path means dealing with everything and oneself, with the Vortex's horrors, but also with the inner demons - and she won't survive her own."

"My Lord, maybe the creature she's carrying in her womb could be your goal. Well, your Holy Wife has commanded to your Blessed Daughter to sacrifice him in honor of the shed blood of the Immortals? I hardly caught a sight of him in the distance, it's just a vague shadow. Can an unborn mortal bother You, Who can do all things, Who defied the Creator Himself? Why don't You answer me? It's such a long silence and Thy maid is blind and lost."

She sighed again and got up from her throne with a patter of small bones and shells.

“Why a Golem, My Lord? The Lux Veritatis easily overpowers it, he's yet strong enough for it. What do you want, oh Samael? What do you hope from your Blessed Daughter? To what strange fate has your Holy Bride sent her?”

 

* * *

 

“To my death, O Mother! To my death!”

The vacuum air swallowed her cry. The stormy wind shook her black hair, which hit her face, bare shoulders and back. The relentless rain splashed her almost naked body, from which hung pieces of her torn clothing. The cloak had fallen a long way back, and had been caught in a rocky outcrop, the same which marked her endless rise as such marked the trail left by her little feet in the snow.

Alone at the top of the mountain, Bathsheba screamed to the night and to the storm. No other place in the world would've accepted her misery and grief. She'd never have imagined there was anything worse than being used for the propagation of her Breed. But there was the evidence. Evidence that she was unable to cope after the terrible revelation of the cardinal.

Any other mortal would've died there but also long before, with so little air to breathe, with snow and ice which burned and rotted their flesh, starting from the limbs, with cutting air tearing the lungs, sharp rain cutting the skin like paper. But she just felt cold, it had only bruised her skin, she barely noticed the rain and wind and the elements that couldn't destroy her.

For once, she who'd a human heart still in an immortal body wanted to feel all that pain and suffering. She felt disgust for her perfect body, her idyllic beauty - she wanted to punish that body, hit it with sharp blades, tear her skin, her muscles, her soft breasts. She couldn't ignore she'd be sacrificed and she couldn't believe it would be for the Mother who was supposed to save her from that disgusting world.

“Mother!” She shouted back with her rending voice. “Answer me! You know what I've just discovered! Come to comfort your Daughter!”

The burst of thunder and the roar of the storm were the only answer. She scratched her cheeks, her face, neck, breasts and belly, wanting to hurt that flesh she hated, wishing to see her colorless and tasteless blood spring out, but all wounds were repaired. She neither could feel the pain nor relieve her guilt. Impure. Sullied. Human heart in immortal flesh.

If the blood of Lilith hadn't cleaned her of that taint, would the Bitter Path do it? Maybe that was what the Mother had intended to say? Maybe she'd be sacrificed to repair that impurity?

Human tears, woman's tears, froze on her cheeks. Her knees bent and her mouth kissed the snow. Then she collapsed and lay in the snow, whose flakes began to nest in her hair strands.

The climb had been long - she'd climbed to that inclement peak with bare hands, when she could've come instantly without exhausting herself, but her soul demanded a penance that the body didn't accept, but the pain and exhaustion were not in it.

They were within her.


	42. Black Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically a monologue by Radha. I know this character never spoke so much, but this time she is telling Lara her whole story before she find her in India. I assumed it would be interesting to know more about a character which seems apparently irrelevant for the main plot.  
> Furthermore, it could help readers to know more about the cruel and tragic situation of women in India. All I told in this chapter is fiction, but based in real facts about books and documentary I got from India.  
> Anyway, it was really easy to write this in my mother language -Spanish- but very hard to translate it to English since Radha uses some expressions and heavy narrative style which I not plenty domine in other languages.  
> Chapter's image is a detail from the excellent photo by Eric Lafforgue: flic.kr/p/mVE2cR

“When I escaped from the Legion, _bahanji_ , I returned to Khusuma Bharadji. After all I knew no other home. I found my village destroyed, but we, the untouchable, never had too many possessions and we're good in arising when trampled. Father had died and so my younger brothers, but my mother and an elder brother had survived. I was the only daughter left so I became, as later learned, a living problem to my family.

We wept for the dead, but it was actually a relief. There was very little food and too many mouths to feed. We cried more for men than for women and more for adults than for children, but all came to pass in the opinion of the gods.

I never saw my sister Sita again. I still weep for her at night for I had no right to mourn her in public, not even to ask for her. My sister was already long dead before then, due to the ritual curses of my people, but until then she'd looked alive to me.

Forgive me, _bahanji_ , for my tears. Sita was dearer to me than everyone else. I'd rather hear her voice again before any sound in this world. I would happily turn blind and deaf to have her back. I don't even know if she's dead or alive, but she never came back. I was the only one who considered her still a human being, I was the one who brought food to her! She must be dead. I hope she's found the path of light to her next life and is reborn as something happy and beautiful.

 

* * *

 

When I returned to my village, I had to face reality. Mother was a widow and she had no body to incinerate and be burned alive next to it, as is required of worthy wives. She covered herself in white clothes and abandoned herself to mourning. So it was my elder brother who decided I should marry, so annoying I had become to the survival of our family.

They chose for me Rahula Ramaswami, who was a good option in his seventieth year. Don't look at me like that, _bahanji,_ our people often trust young wives to mature and experienced husbands. The elder Rahula had had eight wives and fifteen children, between living and dead, and I was twelve years old when I married him.

My mother didn't attend my wedding - for a widow is banned from social life - nor did my dead father and brothers, nor my elder brother who sold me as if I was a piece of cattle. I remember the overwhelming weight of the fabrics and jewels of my trousseau, my wrinkled and hunchback husband awaiting me, but overall, I'm unable to forget a pair of black eyes in particular. _His_ black eyes.

His name was Taresh Ramaswami, and was one of the youngest children of Rahula. He was eighteen and gorgeous like a god. All the girls of the village longed to marry him, but he still had no wife. It was rumored that he was violent, lazy and quarrelsome, but that fateful day I felt trapped in his black eyes and his charming smile which followed me when my husband lifted the veil so everyone could see me. Until then I'd been Radha the little girl, but from that moment I became Radha the woman, the wife of Rahula. Comments were made about my beauty, exaggerated of course, since the only one worthy to be called a beauty had been my sister Sita, until her husband – may Durga punish him with a grim reincarnation - disfigured her.

 

* * *

 

I wanted to die, but I was now a wife. I moved to my husband's home and there I joined his family. I was lucky: none of the eight wives was still alive, so I became the favorite and had no elder wife to command me, but my marriage was like hell. I think you can imagine, _bahanji_ , how was my wedding night – oh, don't look at me with such compassion. It's certainly disgusting to think of a sickly old man doing _that_ to who, for you, Westerners, was still a child, but in fact Rahula was impotent because of his old age – he'd lost all his male strength. Actually that was much worse, how could I give him a child? I just had my period for the first time a few months before, but nothing could be done - and my people always blame the woman. I was terrified, and in that dreadful night Taresh' smile hovered over me – for he knew his father was no longer able to breed children!

I cursed my brother for having doomed me to such a marriage, which would be my death, just because he wanted to get rid of me. I won't even utter his name; I hope the gods curse him and his wife will remain barren forever.

 

* * *

 

For weeks I devoted myself to women's work in home and in the fields- no one would complain about me, for I was meek as expected. There was only one drawback, the people murmuring, _What? Still not pregnant?_ If people spread the rumor that I was barren, I will be as doomed as my disfigured sister. 

All this time I'd lived under the dark shadow of Taresh's glance, who lounged around me. He was handsome and strong, and so moody that even his old father couldn't control him. It was hard to admit it, but I couldn't stop dreaming of his eyes and his smile, his dark skin and curly hair. I used to think I was haunted, now I know I was in love. I didn't pay much attention to the rumors concerning him - in addition to drinking and fooling around, he liked to stalk the girls, corner them in remote places and rape them. But when I looked at him, I'd see only his piercing eyes and his seductive smile, and I felt totally haunted, like so many others. So attractive!

 

* * *

 

One day I was busy in preparing the _chapatis_ which are the basis of our diet, and I noticed a dark shadow covering the sun. Looking up, I saw him, smiling mischievously and so close to me that I could feel the smell of his sweat. I withdrew annoyed, since it's not lawful for a man to approach the wife of another, and I was the wife of his father! Moreover, I was _his mother_ in the practical sense of the word!

“Radha.” His warm voice whispered. “Still not pregnant?”

I blushed to the roots of my hair – it was utterly inappropriate to talk directly to me, and much less about that!

“Looks like my father has failed again, right?” He hissed, and without waiting for an answer, he threw his head back and laughed. I wish the avenging Durga took me at that moment, but I had to suffer the humiliation. “That old crook is a fool to believe he can still fuck a woman.” You can't imagine the horror I felt when I heard him talking like that, _bahanji_. Speaking evil of a father is like spitting on the altar of the gods - but also his language was so foul to make the god mourn. “Such a waste, a woman delivered to an useless oldster. I bet you're longing for a good upright cock.”

So saying, oh gods, he bent over and squeezed my breast through the _sari_. I screamed and jumped back, and he laughed. I barely had breasts then but he'd found them easily through the thick. I was trembling all over, but still, how powerful was my fascination for him! How charmed was I by his beauty!

“You need a man to make you feel like a woman.” He said mockingly. “If my father doesn't fulfil his role... who wants a woman who can't bear children?” He touched my breasts again, and suddenly I arose and receded quickly. He laughed sarcastically, amused with my outrage. “Don't play with me! There’s plenty of whores in your family, isn't there? Your mother, a whore, your sisters, whores and the worst of them all, that hooker with the burned face, the whore of all those white soldiers!”

I couldn't believe that gods didn't punish him for those atrocities. I thought the sky was blackened, but the darkness was inside me, burning me with his words.

“How do you dare to insult my sister Sita!”

“She was the whore of the Legion. She used to crawl into the camp of those butchers and let them fuck her. One after another! What I say! Sometimes two and three at a time!” I covered my ears. “She had her veil put on, so they didn’t have to see her ugly face! They wouldn't have not wanted her! But this way, all were willing to.”

“That's not true!”

“Am I lying? Is that you're saying? I've seen it myself! And you must be just like her. Or you're not longing for a real man?”

I stepped back a little more. I wanted to ask for help, but it wasn't allowed. If I was seen alone with a man, it will be his word against mine, and his will prevail, for he was male. He'd accuse me. I'd never been so scared in my life. That fear reduced my will to nothing.

Taresh came smiling, his black eyes filled with the fire of lust. “You're pretty... quite pretty. Come, let me do it. I'll show what a real man can do.”

I let out a scream when he grabbed me, but I immediately silenced. I shouldn't alert anyone, my reputation was at stake - and if I'd fought for my honor, I'd lose the battle. Part of me still felt terribly attracted towards him, and therefore I almost didn't resist, I let myself be dragged to a nearby shed. There he lay me down and opened my _sari_ , and then fell on me, ignoring my pleas. I felt pain and bled, but I feared more being discovered. I don't know how long he panted over me, then collapsed on me without letting me get up. I was terrified - a part of me knew what had just happened, but it seemed not so bad compared with those brutal legionnaires. I wondered if that was rape or simply love making. Such was my blindness - I was only twelve years!

I cried quietly for a while. He then moved and turned away from me, rolling to one side, and looked satisfied at his work. I guess a man like him must have enjoyed seeing a woman so weak, scared, with torn clothes, naked and showing crudely her bloodstained thighs and sex- but I wasn't crying for what he'd just done. I cried for what he'd said about Sita. Was it true that, beset by hunger and despair, my sister had delivered herself to those soldiers? Was it the reasons for those absences, the sadness in her voice, the depletion of her body? That doubt was destroying me.

Taresh's hand went through my body again, shamelessly exploring my sex and my thighs. His mocking voice whispered in my ear: “Seems you liked it. You see? You're just like the others. But I like riding horses in several ways - and since you enjoyed it and you're not a righteous wife...” Holding me tight by the arms, he turned me towards the ground, crushing my face on the straw. Seeing me so crudely exposed excited him even more brutally than before, panting and moaning hard while I was praying for anyone not to hear us. Then, he got up and left, leaving me there.

 

* * *

 

You're staring at me with horror, _bahanji._ Now I've learned a lot from you, but at that time I still thought as my people does, so I felt guilty: I'd been tempting Taresh with my beauty and my youth, powerless against my wicked nets. What if I got pregnant? Rahula would know it could not be his son! Just when I began to think I would have to find a solution, the old man managed to do it - and just thinking about it makes me feel sick, but nothing terrified me more than knowing Taresh could get back to me! I still felt haunted by him. I was horrified at myself and my head was a mass of contradictory thoughts.

As I feared, Taresh came back to me. He didn't waste time: I got caught by him anywhere, in our cabin, out on the field or at the edge of town. He seized me and dragged me to a discreet place, and there he did as he pleased, several times, in all ways and soon he began to demand my participation. Woe to me! I was expecting the punishment of the gods on my impure soul. Soon my body was no longer mine to become a temple in which he vented all his cravings. He even stopped pestering other girls, the gods know what he'd seen in me! And I was always meek and pleasant, partly because I was afraid, partly because he fascinated me. Even I admit that after a while I stopped feeling pain, as if my body had finally accepted my situation.

 

* * *

 

No matter how much you try, _bahanji_ , you'll never understand the shame I felt. I committed real atrocities just to avoid a major disgrace. As Rahula couldn't beget a child and soon stopped trying, I'd to destroy a couple of times what Taresh bred in me. Ours is a culture eager to sacrifice mouths that can't be fed, but this time was for my own survival. Something about, apparently, Taresh didn't care. I was foolish and coward. I saw my life pass as if I'd already lived it. I was afraid to abort once more – last time I'd bled too much, although it would've been honorable to die, but I didn't dare.

 

* * *

 

And suddenly, everything changed one night, when grinding the grain to Rahula's bowl. He was sitting in front of me, withered and old, and then he said: “Look at me, Radha.” Of course, among our people is not polite for a woman to look directly at a man in the eyes, so I just look at his chin. He sighed and took my chin and turned his dark eyes on me. “You've been sick.” And it was a statement.

I began to tremble. Rahula was very smart, when young he'd been the doctor's apprentice so I wasn't surprised when I heard him saying: “You've been pregnant several times, but you've got rid of all your bastards.”

It would've been foolish to try to lie to him. It was, finally, my death sentence, so my eyes filled with tears and the old man's face faded into a fuzzy cloud.

Then I saw the look of sadness on his face. “My son, right?”

What could I say? I remained silent.

“Oh, damn! How blind I've been!” He said no more.

I finished serving dinner and I headed to my cot, where I spent the night shaking. Women like me were stoned to death, or doused with petrol and set alight, or poured acid on to burn, as they did with my sister. I cursed the gods for having made me a woman and unable to defend myself against this accusation, because then I saw the truth. If there was any fault, that was Taresh's, not mine. And although I still felt attracted to him.

 

* * *

 

I never expected what happened the next morning. I was washing clothes when the door opened and Taresh entered the small shed. I went back, startled, thinking he came to abuse me again, but to my surprise Rahula came behind him - and wielding a wooden stick.

Before I could say anything, Rahula grabbed his son's shoulder and said: “Taresh, is this the woman you've been taking for months?”

The boy closed his eyes and murmured: “You're rambling, Father.”

Almost instantly, Rahula raised his stick and hit Taresh with all his might. He caught him off guard and fell on his knees while uttering a cry of pain. The old man turned towards him. “Tell me, Son,” Rahula repeated, calmly, “is this the woman you impregnated many times?”

“Father, I told you...”

He struck him again. This time Taresh screamed and clutched his face - the blow had cut his eyebrow and was bleeding profusely.

“My son.” Rahula didn't lose the serenity of his voice. “Are you sure this is not the woman you've been fucking for a while?”

Letting out a sigh, Taresh said: “Yes, she is, but, Father...”

“Well, guess what, my son?” Rahula said softly.  _“This woman is my wife_.”

He raised his wand again and began to cast repeated blows on his son, strong and well-aimed, as he yelled _"Father!”_ again and again and tried to protect himself, for it's not allowed for a son to fight his father.

I was like stuck to the ground, motionless and speechless, horrified at what I saw. Rahula beat him mercilessly, and the soil gradually reddened with his blood while bits of flesh scalped with every blow. His face and arms were red too. His screaming became weaker and he finally collapsed on one side, powerless to defend himself.

“You're going to kill him, husband!” I exclaimed in horror.

Rahula stopped. The rod was all red and had pieces of skin and hair attached. He took a deep breath and threw it aside – but he wasn't over. He leaned toward his son and lifted his head grabbing him by the ear, which had fallen almost due to the blows, and twisted it, making him scream in pain. “The gods say, my son,” he whispered softly, “you shall neither covet another's wife, nor the virgin, you shall not dishonor your father or your mother, you shall not covet the wife of your father!” He let him go and his face slammed with a snap on the ground. With this blow he passed out - then Rahula went away calmly as if nothing had happened.

It took me a moment to realize that my old husband wasn't going to make me die, rather the opposite: he'd served justice to me.

 

* * *

 

From that moment, Taresh didn't bother me again. I felt guilty for having expected so little from Rahula, but that was I used to see among my people. We continued to live together in peace and didn't talk about the unfortunate incident again.

But that peace wouldn't last long. When I was 14, my husband got deathly sick. At the end of the day, he was very old. He spent a long time dying, and I remained by his bedside, assisting him to ease his pain. I felt indebted to him, but I never found the way to express it, except for my continued attention.

Rahula's life finally went out one night - may the gods lead him to a fortunate reincarnation. He was a righteous man and my heart is fond of remembering him. However, as you'll probably know, _bahanji_ , I was again terrified - and this is how women in India live in constant terror for now, if widowed, my fate was at the mercy of what my husband's family decided.

They could let me live, which would turn me into a vague shadow, rejected by all and condemned to exile, as they did with my sister, or they could burn me alive on my husband's pyre, as it happens with all righteous wives. Moreover, if it was myself who cast on the fire willingly, I'd not only honor my husband's family, but my own family and myself.

Your butler told me, _bahanji_ , that the practice of the funeral ritual, the _suttee,_ was banned many centuries ago by the British when they were in India. The reality is that wives are still being burned.

 

* * *

 

So the family of my husband decided to burn me - and I had survived so many things to end like this. I didn't care anymore about my honor, having been repeatedly dishonored, nor the honor of my family who'd sold me like a piece of cattle, nor Rahula’s family's honor, who were ruthless and stone-hearted. So I did everything possible to survive, even without honor.

My despair led me to look at Taresh. I found him near the hut where he used to rape me. He was shocked to see me.

“Taresh Ramaswami!” I cried.

He turned his face and pretended not to see me, as a widow is the accumulation of all impurities and filth in our religion.

“You won't ignore me, damn lazy ass!” I cried again. You see, _bahanji_ , I had lost all fear of him. “I have a proposal for you!”

He continued without looking at me, but I noticed he was listening.

“Your father's dead, and I'm intended to his pyre!” I continued. “But I offer you the chance to marry me.”

This time he could not ignore me. He turned and looked at me aghast, despite all the restrictions of the taboo. “You're mad!” He shouted. “I won't marry an impure widow! The gods will curse me!”

I tilted my head back and laughed out loud. The fascination for him had disappeared. I felt only a deep scorn. “The gods have already cursed you, Taresh! You took the wife of your father and dishonored her! The only way to atone the stain you spread is marrying me. I'm rich and I'll give you children, as you already know, you idiot!”

It may seem, _bahanji_ , I was offering myself to the fangs of the tiger, but it certainly was my only way of escaping the _suttee._ If he married me he'll purify my spot and I shall not die.

But he still hesitated, so I pointed him with a finger, which should not be done among honest people, and shouted: “If you reject me, Taresh Ramaswami, and you send me to the fire, I'll curse you before dying! Durga is the goddess who protects me and she shows no mercy to those who harm her beloved ones. And once cursed I'll reincarnate in an evil spirit that will haunt you every day of your life! I'll rot your member, your crops will die, your future wife will be barren, your children will die of the plague, you...”

“Enough! I agree!”

I had won. You can't imagine how powerful I felt at that time. No more, I turned my back with all my contempt and walked away.

 

* * *

 

I heard the song soar through my deep widow's veil. Over the bonfire was burning the body of Rahula, my husband, and as I watched him burn, I apologized for not contributing to his funeral. “You were a good husband.” I mumbled to him. “More than I can expect from your son.”

At that time, a daughter of my husband walked up to me and whispered, without looking at me: “Will you cast into the fire to burn with your beloved, or will we have to force you?”

I turned and looked at Taresh, who advanced. He was supposed to announce he'd take me as a wife to honor the memory of his father, but, oh horror! What he did was grabbing my wrist and announce: “I'll deliver this widow to the flames together with her beloved”.

“So be it!” All the crowd answered, satisfied.

The honorable thing would've been bowing my head and let myself be dragged into the flames, but instead I let out a horrible scream and I twisted so tightly that Taresh let me go. That was enough for me to run down the pyre's platform. I saw hundreds of hands trying to catch me, but I tore my veil and shouted: “Back off! I curse you! Whoever touches my body will be unclean!”

My people are very superstitious and that was enough for many to step back, disgusted and horrified by being the target of a widow's filth. I passed between them like a shot and headed towards the first place my eyes had seen: the jungle.

“Radha!” I heard Taresh howling behind me. His hands grabbed me and I felt his arms surrounding my neck and waist. I started kicking like crazy - fighting for my life! And spat and bit all I could. At one point I turned around, I dug my nails into his face and tore his skin, yelling: “I curse you, traitor! You'll die of slow and painful death, may Durga give you no rest, may She reserve for you the most atrocious of reincarnations!”

He winced when he heard me and I sank my teeth in his hand. He let me go and slipped. My _sari_   broke because of his hand pulls and snags with vegetation. I heard voices in the distance. They came after me. If I didn't manage to escape, they would burn me at the stake.

 

* * *

 

A hand grabbed my ankle. I stumbled and fell. Writhing, I saw his face contorted with hate, I kicked him with all my might. I felt the bone crack and a few drops of blood spattered my ankle. He screamed in pain.

I rose. By not seeing him get up, I suddenly realized I was free. I ran fast into the jungle without looking back, and a last cry, a cry that I've never forgotten, rang in my ears: “Radha! Come here, you hussy!”

 

* * *

 

And the rest of the tale, _bahanji_ , is well known by you.


	43. Prelude To A Storm

****  
  
“Shall we eliminate them all, boss?”  
Schäffer frowned. Despite the given orders, he was a smart man, and determined to act on what was sensible. “No.” He said. “It would be a waste of time. Find the Lux Veritatis, but don't hurt him.”  
The mercenary allowed himself to doubt. “But... the Mistress said...”  
“I am your superior, asshole! Better not forget it. Move!”  
He vanished. Schäffer watched the flames glowing on the walls. _A_ _madwoman_ , he thought, _those_ _are_ _the_ _orders_ _of_ _a_ _madwoman._ _I'll_ _take_ _care_ _of_ _this_ _soon._

* * *

  
Nikos coughed repeatedly, and curled up next to Marcus who, with the old codex pressed against his chest, searched through the darkness. “What's up ahead, _patéras_?”  
“Two ways - one leading to the catacombs, the other to an outside staircase on the wall of the rock.”  
“Does it descend to the ground?”  
“Yes.”  
“That’s our way, then!”  
Through the dancing shadows Marcus saw his partner shaking his head. “I can't leave my brothers at those butchers' mercy, Healer.”  
“What will you do against all those men? There are young brothers who carry guns!”  
“I can't, Marcus, I shouldn't...”  
Without listening, Marcus stood up and tugged the _hegumenos_ by his robe sleeve: “Guide me through this second path, for the Light's sake! The manuscript must not go missing!”  
They ran at the limit of their strength. Every scream, hit or shot coming from the higher levels pierced the bowels of the _hegumenos_. Finally they noticed a gust of cold air. The starry sky opened before them. They were on a kind of balcony of stone and rock stairs winding down. “Here we go separated ways, Brother Healer.” Nikos gasped. “God keep you safe and the Light will be merciful.”  
“You can't stay here!” Marcus yelled. “Come with me, all is lost here!”  
The _hegumenos_ was about to reply, but suddenly fell silent and looked in horror behind the Lux Veritatis. He turned and saw the rise of a shadow of the stone wall. “You!”  
Giselle came towards them. She was still dressed with strict etiquette and her makeup was spotless, beautiful, but her eyes shined in an inhuman way. “Don't move.” She commanded with a cold voice. Then she looked at the book held by Marcus. “What's that?”  
The Lux Veritatis feinted to head for the stairs, but Giselle shouted _“_ _Stop!”_ and pulled out a gun. The small metal gun flashed in the night. Nikos looked at the woman with petrified eyes. She was targeting the Healer with the barrel of the gun.  
“I won't be a prisoner again, Giselle.” Marcus said calmly. “And less your prisoner.”  
“Your life's worth so little to me like all these monks.” She replied dryly. “I won't waste a single cell on you. Show me that book.”  
Suddenly, Nikos placed himself between them, covering Marcus, and said: “Your foolishness and the foolishness of those who came before you have already caused too much damage and pain to innocent people. Leave us alone and go away.”  
Giselle just frowned a little. “Get out of my way, monk. I won't repeat it again.”  
“Leave us alo...”  
Shrugging, Giselle raised her gun and fired four times. The deafening noise drowned out Marcus' cry of horror.  
She'd aimed well - four bullets pierced the _hegumenos_ ' chest. Dropping the codex, Marcus rushed to hold Nikos' body while falling. Both ended up on the ground, the Healer's hands grabbing the sticky, blood-soaked habit. The wounds were mortal, and Nikos Kavafis, _hegumenos_ of Meteora for a short and unhappy time, barely had time to give a reassuring smile to his partner before shuddering and dying. A thick line of blood slid down from the corner of his mouth to the ground.  
Marcus looked up. Now the gun barrel was targeting him. “You're a monster, Giselle.” He said, trying to control the tremor in his voice.  
“Hatred and pain create monsters, Healer.” She replied calmly. “Tell this to your friend, that murderer from your Order.”  
“You're insane. You could be saved, Giselle, if you admit it and abandon your war against us. You're walking into an abyss and only you can stop that.”  
“No one can save me - nor tell me what to do. This has been my choice and you all are going to pay for it.”  
“Then death is your choice.” He got up, carefully left the _hegumenos_ ' corpse on the ground, and took the manuscript, before wiping his bloodstained hands on his clothes.

“I don't fear death.” Giselle said, without putting down the gun. “I've nothing to lose.”  
“That's what you think.” Marcus showed to her the open book. “You want to know what this is? No need to kill Kavafis for it. It's an ancient manuscript with an extensive prophecy written by an ancient witch. The prophecy speaks about us and this moment.”  
The crimson lipsticked mouth curled into a contemptuous smile. “How much you like old and useless pages full of crap. I understand now why you get along with my dreaming daughter.”  
Marcus took a few steps away, extending the open book before her, and recited aloud:  
_“_ _Flashpoint of the avenging_ _sword  
You're_ _wielding,_ _with_ _trembling_ _hand,  
You_ _who_ _never_ _knew_ _the_ _touch_ _of_ _a_ _kiss,  
Whose_ _heart_ _beats_ _crazy  
Locked_ _between_ _the_ _spines_ _of_ _your_ _distress,  
Splashing_ _blood_ _around_ _you.  
Your_ _offspring_ _have_ _to_ _kill_ _you,  
Because_ _you_ _were_ _born_ _for_ _love  
But_ _you_ _can_ _only_ _breed_ _hatred._ _”_  
Giselle's laughter echoed through the emptiness of the abyss. “Nonsense! That verse could refer to anyone.”  
“It's about you, Giselle! You're into something much larger and darker than your personal revenge. There are beings whose power you can't imagine that have placed you on a huge board with the rest of us. Don't you understand? We're game pieces, moved by hellish creatures! Each card with a name, each player with a destiny. It's foolish to think about revenge, your problems are much greater!”  
She shook her head, waving short locks of blond hair. “Dotard, you should hear the crap you're saying. You sound like an ignorant peasant of the Middle Ages, awaiting the Day of Judgment.”  
Marcus dropped the book. “You're blind. This will be your undoing. You're digging your own grave.”  
“No, you've dug your own. I'm sick of your gibberish, stupid old man.” She said, and raised the gun again.  
“You won't kill me. I am the Wise - I've a role in this plot, and hellish beings won't let you alter the course of their plans. So far you've come, but they won't let you go any further. Everything that’s happened so far has been with their approval and consent, for nothing interfered with their plans. But now you won't kill me.”  
“Let's test it.” Giselle smiled, and pulled the trigger.  
The bullet struck the old man's shoulder. The wound was not fatal, but the bullet pushed him over the stone balcony. He screamed as he fell. Giselle then approached, and after leaning over, was dumbfounded.  
Marcus remained suspended in the air, clutching the manuscript with his good arm. He floated, but it was Bathsheba who was holding him by the waist, a gaunt Bathsheba, haggard and dressed in rags, whose locks of hair and clothes were flying in the evening breeze, making her look ghostly. She raised her sunk eyes to her mortal mother and looked at her with infinite sorrow.  
“What a scene!” The doctor muttered. “Karel would've _enjoyed_ so much seeing his daughter, a Nephilim, saving the life of a Lux Veritatis!”  
“I haven't saved his life.” She answered in stride. “What he said is true. He has a reserved role in the Mother's plans - and you do too.” Bathsheba's long white fingers dug into Marcus' injured shoulder.

Giselle noticed she was healing him. That enraged her. “Is this the daughter I bred? Is this broken, tearful, whiny, pitiful wreck _my_ daughter? Are you a compassionate beggar? Indeed, Gertrude made you useless from head to toe!”  
The Nephilim lowered her long lashes. Marcus stood motionless and silent in her arms.  
“You're blind, Mother. Everything he said is true. What is to come will end all you know and love.”  
“What I love…” Giselle's voice trembled. “What I love is lost. They took him from me. I have nothing to lose.”  
Her daughter's green eyes raised back to her. “Youth, beauty, life. Things for which I didn't pay, but you do, Mother. All this can still be missed.”  
“I don't want them anymore. I want revenge - and you should want it too! For this you were born!” She stopped abruptly, for through her daughter' dirty cheeks tears were sliding. “Are you crying? Why do you cry? You have no feelings for it!”  
“Despite the Holy Blood of the Mother, I'm still half-human. You gave birth to me for your revenge and the Mother gave me blood for Hers. I can't be an instrument of both. I made my choice, Mother. I disown you.”  
At that time, a shadow slid down the wall. Schäffer was silent and subtle, looking stunned at the scene.  
“Schäffer.” Bathsheba looked at him. “I know you've been listening to it all secretly, since she murdered the _hegumenos_. You know what's coming, and I hope for Giselle's own good you'll believe this more than she does. You must believe what you hear, and if you really love her, remove her from her stupid revenge, because,” she closed her eyes at that moment, “no one will remove her from the Mother's plans. Her fate is the same as each one of ours - even mine.” She turned back to Giselle. “This is the last time we meet on neutral ground, Giselle. Next time you'll believe in everything I say, since you'll be fighting for your life. May the Mother have mercy on you.”  
The Nephilim rose slowly, taking Marcus with her, and soon disappeared in the sky, turning a deaf ear to Giselle's cries, whom Schäffer held to avoid her pounce on the brink.

* * *

  
  
Yes, something was awfully wrong with Wilbur's corpse - it had already acquired the typical _rigor_ _mortis_ , but the skin had become strangely bruised and looked as if huge worms were sliding under it. It was unthinkable it had reached such a state of putrefaction in so little time...unless...  
Kurtis bent over the lying body on the table, feeling an unpleasant premonition. Almost instantly, the corpse opened his eyes and looked at him - they were covered by a whitish layer, similar to the Sibilla's blind eyes.  
William let out a cry of horror at seeing his dead brother rising from the table and grabbing Kurtis' neck. The Lux Veritatis struggled, but the strong creature clung to his throat, squeezing him with inhumane violence. Kurtis jerked back, dragging the corpse off the table, making it hang of his neck and falling to the ground like an empty sack.  
The American barely had time to take a deep breath before that thing pounced on him again in a relentless struggle, ready to strangle him. The Lux Veritatis hit it with blows and kicks which would've crushed a living man, given his considerable strength, and actually broke bones and tore pieces of flesh - but couldn't exhaust the unholy strength animating that corpse.  
Through the red haze which clouded his eyes, Kurtis noticed Marie and Lara who looked on terrified - he should tell them what to do. He pulled one of the monster's claws from his throat, tearing, incidentally, some strips of his own skin, and took breath to yell a single word: _“Golem!”_  
That was enough for Marie, who, despite never having seen a golem before, knew what to do. She ran outside and took a burning piece of wood from the bonfire used for dinner and ran inside again.  
Lara, who despite her injured status couldn't overcome her nature as a woman of action, had tried to fend the creature from Kurtis twisting its neck horribly. The corpse's vertebrae were broken with a snap, but that didn't stop the monster at all.  
“Step aside!” Marie yelled, putting the torch to the rotting leg of the golem. Lara did so, watching in horror as the dead skin crackled and set on fire.  
There was a terrible risk of setting Kurtis on fire also, but when the rotten flesh began to burn, the creature loosened its grip. The Lux Veritatis busted its guts with a kick, so the thing staggered back, wrapped in flames, and stumbled onto the floor.  
Kurtis coughed while a thin trickle of blood stained his T-shirt collar. William was screaming in horror, after watching the scene with wide eyes and without helping at all. Marie and Lara approached Kurtis, without losing sight of the flaming lump, Radha and Maddalena had arrived also and were embracing each other, when barely seconds had passed since the Indian girl had finished telling her own story.   
Finally, the being froze and became a charred mass - but it wasn't over yet. Marie pulled a knife and leaning on the golem, she began to chop it while reciting aloud: “Golem of Darkness, I cut your fingers so you can't return from the demon world to grab us. I cut your feet so you can't chase us. I cut, at last, your tongue, so you can't curse us. Return to the shadow from which you were born and leave this body you stole to rest in peace.”  
Finally, Willian reacted: “What the hell are you doing? You're butchering my brother!”  
“It was _not_ your brother.” Kurtis mumbled, his voice broken as a result of the struggle. “A vengeful soul took his body and drove away his soul, taking control of him - then tried to rape Lara and attacked me. If we don't destroy it, it will rise again and again to accomplish its task. This is what the Order calls golem.”  
“And... my brother?”  
“He's gone. He was gone even before Lara was attacked.” Kurtis concluded, and too exhausted to speak more, he withdrew to his tent.  
“He's injured!” Maddalena said, noting his bleeding neck, and started to go after him, but she stopped at Lara's glance. The Italian woman blushed and decided to take Radha to her tent instead.

* * *

  
Lara cleaned the wound and then said: “I feel reassured now. There's an explanation for what happened. But this new creature…the golem...why would it return from the dead just to rape a woman? I thought its mission was to kill.”  
Reluctantly, for he didn't feel like talking, Kurtis said: “It's not a demon in the literal sense of the word. What took control of Wilbur's body was a doomed soul, who sought to take revenge on those who wronged it. Whoever it may be, it's someone killed by either you or me, Lara.”  
“I've killed a lot of people.” She shrugged - then she realized that sounded too frivolous and corrected herself. “I’m not proud of it, but it seems impossible to figure it out. He's not the first one to try to rape me, but…” That was hard to admit. “Yes, he’s the first one who almost made it. I couldn't fight against him, he was too strong.”  
“A recently dead, a bloodthirsty soul – easy to be manipulated by dark forces.” Kurtis shook his head. “I'm exhausted Lara, and you should rest too.”  
It was the first night in a long time they didn't make love, but she didn't protest - at the end of the day, she felt terrible and he'd almost been choked to death. After a while she fell asleep, hugging his back.  
But Kurtis couldn't sleep... he couldn't. No matter how exhausted he was, how tired of that endless struggle, neither sleep nor tears came to lighten the weight of his eyelids and the pain in his body.  
For the first time in the depths of his conscience, Kurtis Trent realized he'd hit bottom. He couldn't go on like that, wandering from place to place, dragging his beloved ones through all kinds of hardship, suffering, injury and certain death. It was time to make a decision - a decision that would only involve him. He knew that Lara wouldn't agree, but she was no longer in a position to decide. He must do it for her, if she wanted to avoid further mishaps.  
The Lux Veritatis sat up and looked at the sleeping woman by his side. Lara was strong and brave, and tough, very tough. But now she was pregnant and it was absurd to make her endure that relentless ordeal. Soon, her pregnancy would be too advanced and any effort or hardship could lead her to suffer a miscarriage, and possibly die. She didn't want to see it, but that was the way things were. It was time to keep her safe.  
Kurtis knew he wasn't entitled to make plans for her. After all, he was neither her husband nor her fiancé; he was nothing but the man who shared her bed at night. He could be considered her lover, but that didn't give him any power over her.

But he was the father of her child, yes. He was responsible for that life - and if she thought she could exclude him from that, she was wrong.  
_I_ _wish_ _I_ _could_ _have_ _given_ _you_ _something_ _better_ _than_ _this_ , he lamented. Since they were together, she'd been hungry and cold, suffered terrible wounds at the hands of his enemies. He was cursed, he brought pain everywhere. _I_ _told_ _you,_ _Lara._ _Why_ _didn't_ _listen_ _to_ _me?_ _You_ _don't_ _regret it,_ _but_ _I_ _do._  
Kurtis loved her too much to do that to her. One way or another, it was the end. He got up slowly, dressed with all the secrecy inherited from his two roots - both the Order and the Navajo people. Thoroughly equipped, he collected all his weapons, the beautiful Chirugai, everything that was his. Then he left quietly. He would've liked to kiss her one last time, but that would've awakened her.  
Next morning, no one could find him. He'd vanished.


	44. Beginning And End

  
  
The gentle morning breeze stroked Marcus' beard. They were on top of Mount Ararat in Israel. Sill pressing the beautiful manuscript against his chest, the Healer turned toward the thoughtful lady at his side. “I see your trouble, Bathsheba. You're undeniably human, despite your appearance and essence.”  
The Nephilim didn't answer. She was staring into the plain, her rags fluttering in the breeze. Her glassy eyes shone as if feverish.  
“So it begins, right?” The Lux Veritatis asked.  
She nodded slightly. “Yes, it has begun. The Mother is waking up.”  
“Then we've not much time left. We must take the Bitter Path. Where's the entrance to the Vortex?”  
“In the Sibilla's lair.” She replied calmly. “You'll be surprised to know that she's still alive, old Wise. She's survived taking one body after another through the millennia - but her work comes to an end. The Great Goddess claims her back to Her womb. Opening up the gate will be her last mission in the mortal world.  
Marcus nodded, serene. Finally, all was being disclosed. “We must go there. Why do you hesitate, Blessed Daughter?”  
Bathsheba's lips trembled slightly. “You shouldn't call me that. I'm your ancient enemy, the plague that wiped out your people.”  
“ _They_ wiped out my people - not you. Bathsheba... being half Nephilim doesn't make you my enemy. They became our enemies because we damaged them and they damaged us. You're different, you know. You're more human than all of them.”  
Her green eyes, surrounded by bruised dark circles, turned toward him. “Stop always repeating the same refrain. I've the Blood of the Mother.”  
“Blood can't change who you are. You've admitted that yourself. Bathsheba, it’s in your hands to stop what is coming.”  
“It's useless. I made my choice.”  
“You haven't chosen anything. You know She uses you. Choose for yourself, there's still time, you're still pure. Choose the right side.  
“I've already chosen.” She answered coldly, and turning away, she parted.

* * *

  
In the silence of her cave, the Sibilla felt the bowels of the earth vibrating.  
At first it was a soft murmur, almost imperceptible - then it increased. It ended up being an intense vibration tingling the soles of her feet. Mortals couldn't yet perceive, but the Dark Lady woke slowly.  
“The signal we expect.” The prophetess murmured softly. “For centuries I've longed for this, O Mother. Finally it's time.” She got up.

At the bottom of the cave there was a tiny pond of groundwater. She went and washed herself - which she did rarely, for ritual purification. She erased from her childish body all the paintings of red, ocher and black, leaving only the tangle of scarifications made by knives. She left the fresh, clean water and took a flint knife, with which she shaved her shaggy hair, snatching from it the parasites feeding on it, all the trimmings of the hair, leaving her head smooth and shiny.  
She gathered her few clothes and hair and burned them. Then she spent hours getting everything ready for her farewell. From several millennia she'd been treading the earth and at last it was time to leave. If she'd remembered how to smile, she'd do it. Finally she was about to return to the Mother.  
The _Sibilla_ took her seat again, brooding, watching the dying embers of the fire. Almost instantly her eyes caught the new presence in her cave.  
“Welcome, I was expecting you.” The prophetess muttered.  
He lifted the curtain and stared at her, frowning.  
“Don't be surprised. Now I welcome you and before you weren't welcomed – it was expected of me. Don't be surprised, also, because I've noticed your presence despite your silence. Your aura is so bright that you shine like a torch in the darkness.”  
“I thought you were blind.” The man said, crossing his arms over his chest.  
“I'm blind to earthly things - but I see everything else: souls, hearts, time, fate. I was waiting for you. It's time.”  
Kurtis, standing with his legs apart, looked at her with suspicion. He'd come to her for answers.  
“Oh, you'll have your answers.” The _Sibilla_ replied calmly. “Although there's so little time.”  
“I want to end this.” The Lux Veritatis said bluntly. “This life of running and fighting something I can't defeat. Tell your masters I'm ready.”  
The prophetess looked up, scanning the room with her white eyes. She held a steaming bowl in her hands. Had she drunk from it? Suddenly, her voice became hoarse and sounded as if someone else spoke through her mouth. “You're the last of the Lux Veritatis. The Wise's not a threat to us, but you are. Your life was requested from the moment you were born. What you never knew is that escaping from us and the Order had always eased our way. You weakened them by not having your powerful collaboration and by escaping you extended your life, giving us the satisfaction of chasing you. Now you offer all you've left, your own life, hoping that we'll spare your beloved ones.” The cracked voice broke for a moment. Kurtis had not moved an inch, staring expressionless to the _Sibilla_. “But you will be pleased only if that suits our plans. All those included in our servant's prophecy must follow their fate no matter what you desire. Although two will go to shed their blood at the foot of the Great Mother, it will be seven transiting the Bitter Path: the Warrior and the Amazon, the Impure and the Innocent, the Wise and the Angel, and also the Hidden One. This has told the Voice in the Darkness: among the two who shed their blood, only one could be redeemed, and he'll redeemed by the will of the Goddess. But woe to them if they don't satisfy the Ineffable: none of them will again see the light of mortals.”  
Upon hearing the prophecy recited again, Kurtis realized what he already suspected: it was the Voice speaking through the Sibilla's lips.  
“If I'm going to die,” he demanded, “I want you to spare the Amazon. One life for another.”  
“Only if She pleases.” The hoarse, inhuman voice articulated. “Don't think you came here just for yourself. All who are bound by this prophecy have acted to suit our plans. Every step you've taken from the day you were born has led you here, Kurtis Heissturm, Demon Hunter. Both you and the others.”  
The Lux Veritatis nodded his head with a dry bow. “I'm ready.” He said stoically.  
Without further ado, the _Sibilla_ handed the steaming bowl to him. Kurtis doubted only a moment, then, adjusting his load on his back and securing his weapons, approached, took the bowl and drank it down in one gulp.  
“I, _Sibilla Satanica_ , the Servant of the Dark, open the gates of the Vortex for you.” The priestess said, now with her human voice. “What you left behind you won't recover. Who goes in never comes out as the same. Who gives a step further will never step back.”

Kurtis' figure began to blur. He looked, dazed, as his fingers, his arms, his whole body crumbled into nothingness like mist, and eventually was absorbed by the dark, without leaving the slightest trace of his presence.

* * *

 

“No! It can't be!”

Lara faced all the sad faces looking at her, outraged.

“It's true.” Marie said, sorrowful. “He's gone. See for yourself - there's not one of his things left, he's taken them all.”

“He wouldn't have left like this, without telling me.” Lara made a fuss. “He wouldn't make decisions without telling me!”

 _Why not?_ A little insidious voice said in her head. _Who do you think you are? His_ _mother? She has no more control over him than you! You thought he was a lap dog_ _to be commanded all the time?_

 _“_ He wouldn't do that.” She mumbled again, dazed. “Leaving like this, leaving me..like... as he once did... he promised!” She broke out, furious, not caring that everyone was looking distressed at her.

“He did that to protect you back then, Lara, and he's done it again.” Marie calmly reasoned. “Please, calm down. I also fear for him, Lara.”

The British explorer turned, furious, and went to her tent.

“Where are you going?”

“What _no one_ seems to get here is that we're both involved in this!” She yelled. _“Both_ of us! He needs me!”

Marie followed her at full speed.

“What do you mean?” She looked stunned at how Lara picked up her things, and then she screamed. _“No!_ What are you doing? You mean to follow him!”

“I know where he's gone.” Lara gasped. “The _Sibilla_. What I already suspected...she could help... he's gone to the Vortex!”

The Navajo woman took four strides and grabbed Lara's elbow. “ _Enough!”_ She yelled. “You're _pregnant_ , Lara! You can't do anything for him. You must think now about your child, his safety, _your_ safety!”

Lara tried to pull away from her, but Marie, despite her age, was still very strong and she dug her nails hard in her arm. “You think you're being clever, girl? You're being foolish!”

“I'm joining him.”

“You'll lose your child - and you'll die.”

“I owe allegiance to him. We're both in this.”

Maddalena listened with her head down - then made a silent question. _He's there_

 _where she says?_ She trembled awaiting an answer from the Voice.

_Yes, my Giulia. He's there._

The redhead gasped and turned away. _Is there any hope for him?_

 _Only if someone gives his life for him, but he's chosen to sacrifice himself for her, who_ _will soon follow him, whether the Navajo woman likes it or not._

 _Am I included in the prophecy?_ Maddalena shook again.

_Yes, Giulia. Soon you will join the others. But fear not, I'll protect you._

_The others?_

_Yes, Giulia. Marcus the Wise, Giselle the Angel, Lara the Amazon and Kurtis the_ _Warrior._

_Who am I? The Impure, the Innocent, the Hidden One?_

_You must be told that only by the Wise. So it has to be._

* * *

 

“Are you ready?”  
“I am ready.”  
The _Sibilla_ handed the bowl to Marcus. He bowed to the prophetess, took it, but before drinking he said: “I should return the manuscript, Herophilis.”  
The girl's reincarnated shoulders trembled. “What did you call me?”  
“Herophilis – such was your name when you were a beautiful girl from the V century. You were born in Athens, and that's the name your mother gave to you. Then you went to serve as a priestess to the virginal Hestia, but it was another Goddess, more powerful and terrible, who chose you. She destroyed your sight, blinding your eyes to open them to Her Darkness. You became the most powerful prophetess of the Mediterranean, the most feared _Sibilla_ throughout the Empire. The Roman emperors came to consult you, and tremble at your presence. They called you Eritrean Sybil, for you lived there, but you served a darker being than the prophetic Apollo.”  
The sterile eyes of the prophetess had filled with tears, now streaming down her cheeks covered with scars, remembering what she had so long forgotten. “Herophilis...” She muttered. “Herophilis...Eritrean Sybil...I was so beautiful that even Caesar kissed my feet...” She blinked and lifted her chin. “Herophilis has lived her last reincarnation. Keep the manuscript, it was written for you, Wise. Now drink from the bowl.”  
Marcus did it, peacefully, serene - and immediately his figure vanished into thin air, while the _Sibilla_ spoke the ritual words to escort him to that world. Then she took the bowl and looked at Bathsheba, who'd watched the scene silently. “You've done well, Blessed Daughter. There are still five left.”  
“The Amazon will come on her own, as the Warrior did. The Angel will be brought. I will bring myself the Innocent and the Impure.”  
“What about the Hidden One?”  
Bathsheba sighed. “That one will also come on his own.”

* * *

  
  
Schäffer smoked slowly and carefully the Havana cigar he'd reserved for months just in case a special occasion arose. Apparently it would never happen, so why wait any longer. When he finished, he threw the remains and stood from the Jeep’s hood he'd been sitting on. He sighed deeply and went to the trunk, opened it and stared at the load he was carrying, so precious to him. “I hope you'll forgive me for this.” He said. “But you left me no choice.”  
Giselle glared furiously at him, her hands and feet tied and gagged. It had been useless to speak to her calmly, to yell at her, to shake her. All useless, except kidnapping her. As promised, Schäffer had taken control of the situation, dismissing his men without further orders and taking Giselle, who'd howled, kicked, bitten and spat, once preventively disarmed.  
Now they were on the coast of Israel, and he'd decided to go inland. That's what Bathsheba had told him to do - but he didn't do it because of that. In fact, he was taking orders from no one. He wanted to know what was really behind all of that, provided that it didn't involve risk to Giselle's life or his own. He didn't know the danger was real and so close.  
“You're a perfect idiot.” He said, flatly. “I can't understand you. If I were you, I'd send everything to hell and live a good life. We could go anywhere, you and I, for I can take care of you. Yes, we could make a new beginning.”  
A sarcastic smile seemed to guess through Giselle's gag.  
“Yes, I know you despise me. You're only able to think of your fucking Karel, who's dead and even if he was alive, he would not move a finger for you - but I would, Giselle. I'd take care of you even though I am but a subordinate worm to you. Bathsheba's dangerous and I want to find out what she's about to do - and I'm not as sceptical of her words as you are.”

He closed the trunk and took the wheel. There was still a long way to Syria.

* * *

  
“ _Questo mundo mio amore...dove ste mio Dio...”_ Humming to ignore that horrible feeling of isolation in the midst of that darkness, Maddalena walked shakily through the cave, driving her nails into the wall. She trembled all over her body, but still unwilling to go back.  
The cave was dark and cold. The _Sibilla_ had turned off all the lights except the embers of her fire. Terrified, Maddalena's voice rose again. “ _Ti amo, ti amo, stella bella mea...”_  
“ _Ti_ _amo_ _bella,_ _inanitas,_ _stella,_ _ti_ _amo_ _vanitas_...” Another voice replied from the darkness.  
The redhead winced.  
“Fear me not.” The dark voice said hoarsely. “You came on your own and this is unexpected. Welcome.” The small figure held out a bowl.

The Italian girl barely saw a thing in that blackness, but she took it with trembling hands. “Will I be with him?”  
“If you move fast.”  
“The place where I'm going... is Hell?”  
“So you mortals call it, yes.”  
She closed his eyes, squeezing hard. “Will I suffer?”  
“Of course - but fear not, all your life you've been preparing for this. You and all the rest.”  
“The Voice promised me he'd be mine.”  
“The Voice doesn't promise in vain - she's the mouth of the Goddess. Save him and he'll be yours so that nobody can take him from you.”  
“Not even _her?”_  
“Not even her.”  
Maddalena drank from the bowl, and drifted.

* * *

  
“Lara, I beg you...it's your child. _His_ child. _My grandchild!”_  
She could not ignore her, but tried to do so as she finished preparing her backpack. Food, equipment and weapons, she had it all. She carried it at her back, before Marie and Radha's astonished and desolated gaze. Maddalena was long gone.  
“The _Sibilla_ has opened the Vortex's gates.” Lara said. “That's where I go, and I must not be anywhere else. I'm sorry, Marie.”  
The Navajo woman looked down when she passed next to her, but Radha followed Lara until the temple.  
“Stay and take care of Marie, Radha. See you then.”  
The Indian girl said nothing - with a silence full of eloquence, she raised her hand in farewell.  
At the edge of the well, the British explorer saw Marie coming running. “No one has returned alive from there, Lara, for no one has ever been there. I want you to know that it was a honor to meet you, that you made my son happy and... we would've been happier, both of us, if you'd wanted to preserve your child's life.”  
Lara looked at her solemnly. “I'm also honored to have met you, Marie. You're the kind of woman I admire, and whom all should look like. Take care of Radha.” And she went downstairs slowly, without looking back.  
  
Apparently, Maddalena had anticipated the events, arriving without being called. This was unexpected - it must have been _her_ to lead her to the _Sibilla's_ presence. It seemed a fact of no importance, but that greatly disturbed Bathsheba. She was used to have everything planned, to see things long before they happened, to discuss the future of others as is it was the present - and that change in her outlook made her feel upset, for beyond the border between the Vortex and the mortal world, her vision faded.  
The Nephilim couldn't see those who'd crossed the border. What was worse, she knew that once she'd cross, she'll lost her own sight. She wouldn't be able to see beyond time and space, like a blind mortal, while her arch enemy would be allowed to keep his psychic powers.  
Lilith wanted it that way. It was unfair, but as the Dark Queen had said, she wouldn't need her sight. Bathsheba was sure that was part of the ordeal awaiting her. Moreover, her enemy, as the Goddess had promised, would be unbalanced with a great physical loss, so she'd no right to protest.  
But seeing a mere mortal anticipating her plans frustrated her.  
“It's simple.” She said aloud, turning her parched face to Syria's hot desert wind. “Maddalena's the piece that dances in the middle of Your board, as You told me. The others will follow their instincts, they won't disobey their essence, but she's changeable and unpredictable. I must be careful with her.”  
The Nephilim was distracted by the sound of an engine. Ah, there they were - at least there would be no more unexpected events.  
The Jeep parked in front of her and she faced the tall, burly man who'd served her during those two years, and who made her a dry and reverent salutation. “My Lady.” He said, looking at her, unable to hide his shame for the unfortunate aspect of Bathsheba, dirty, ragged and impaired. Unconsciously, his eyes ran away from the areas of bare skin discovered by her rags.  
He went to the trunk, opened it and took a lump, which he placed at the foot of the Nephilim. Giselle retreated to sit and cast a look of fury at her captors.  
“I see you still don't get it, Giselle.” Bathsheba murmured. Turning to Schäffer, she added. “You're a faithful servant, and you've proven to be wiser than your predecessors.”  
“I don't see any wisdom in what I'm doing, my Lady.” The other said in a bad mood. “Looks like I'm delivering a victim for slaughter.”  
“It might be, Schäffer. It might be.”  
The mercenary's glance darkened. “I haven't brought her to have her killed, my Lady. I owe you loyalty, but I also owe her, and before you. I can't let you hurt her.”  
“Of course not. You've brought her here because you're smart and you know that even if you hid her in the deepest, forgotten hole of the earth I'd find her and take her to her destination. You've done this wisely and that must be rewarded. I dismiss you from all your obligations to Giselle and me. You're free to go wherever you want, we won't need your services anymore.”  
Schäffer took a deep breath. “You can release me from my loyalty toward you, my Lady, but only Giselle can break me free from my allegiance to her. If what you intend is to kill her, I'm afraid I can't allow it.” And then he pulled out his gun and aimed directly to Bathsheba's face as he stood between her and Giselle - who, stunned and silent in her gag, watched the scene.  
The Nephilim didn't move an inch. “Follow your common sense, Schäffer. You know I can defeat you, and I can kill you too. But I wouldn't enjoy to do so as you've proven to be faithful and competent. Even if all the military forces of the human armies fought for her, they wouldn't free Giselle from the fate prescribed for her before she was born. You have done well so, don't spoil your merit.”  
The gun trembled in the mercenary's hand. “You'll kill her...”  
“No, my friend. I never said such a thing. What must be done will be done. I can't see what will happen, but it will happen as written centuries ago. You know there's no other way.”  
Slowly, the man lowered the gun. “If she makes it, I want her back to me.”  
“So sad. She loves you no more than she was loved by my father. Would you endure the same fate, her madness?”  
“She fell in love with a soulless being. I am as mortal as her. If she...”  
“If her fate is to survive, and I pass the test awaiting me, I swear by everything which is immortal that I, Bathsheba, will return Giselle to you.”  
“That being the case, I agree.” He turned away.

The Nephilim smiled, admiring the sense she didn't expect in someone like him. Then she looked down on the handcuffed woman. “You don't deserve his love. If I were him, I'll let the Vortex's demons take you, you wicked woman.”  
Giselle seemed to smile mockingly behind the gag. Bathsheba bowed toward her and instantly a fuzzy aura wrapped them and took them out of sight of the mercenary.  
Schäffer remained silent a moment. Then he murmured: “I'll wait for you.”

* * *

  
  
“Fascinating meeting.” It was the _Sibilla_ who'd spoken, looking over Lara's shoulder. The British explorer already held in her hands the bowl with the ritual drink when she turned, surprised to see, coming out of nowhere, Bathsheba and Giselle at her feet, hands and feet tied and gagged.  
“My hour has come.” The trembling prophetess murmured, rising from her throne.  
“Stop!” Lara shouted, holding the bowl with one hand and pulling out the gun with the other.  
Bathsheba folded her arms, quiet and serene. “Watch out, Amazon. Don't spill the precious contents of the bowl. You will share it with both of us, since the _Sibilla_ is not going to make more.”  
The blind prophetess seemed to look back to the Nephilim, murmuring: “You don't need the potion to pass to the other world, Blessed Daughter.”  
“It's the Goddess' wish - so be it.”  
“Let, then, Her will be done.” The priestess advanced, trembling with emotion, towards Bathsheba, who picked her up gently, like a mother cradling her daughter. Suddenly, however, she threw back her head and sank her teeth into her throat, slowly sucking all her blood. Lara didn't move, impressed by a scene so delicate and cruel at a time. The prophetess finally relaxed and went limp.

Bathsheba deposited the body of the girl on the ground while muttering: “Herophilis, I command you not to be reborn again. Immortal prophetess, go to enjoy the promised rest with your Lord and His Wife. Go to the Darkness, and may it always protect you.” And she closed the corpse's eyes. Rising, she looked monstrous in Lara's eyes, for all her dirt and untidiness, the stains of blood spreading from her mouth down her chest to her groins. She looked like a vampire, but it was just a way to kill as any other.  
It seemed incredible that a being like the blind prophetess, who'd lived more than most of mortals, was now dead. Someone who'd died as many times as a life expectancy takes to last, through History's varying stages - but this time she'd stay dead, this time her soul would find no other flesh vessel to dwell within.  
“You'll be pleased.” Bathsheba heard Lara saying. “Everything's going off without a hitch, isn't it?”  
“Not everything. Not everything.”  
Lara laughed mockingly and lifting the bowl, exclaimed: “Cheers!” And drank a drink.

Bathsheba barely had time to pounce on the bowl and catch it before it hit the ground and broke when Lara vanished into thin air. The liquid splashed a little, but she didn't miss much.  
“That fucking bitch will regret her pride.”  
The Nephilim turned. It was Giselle who'd spoken, for she'd removed the gag by rubbing her mouth against her shoulder.  
“We're all going to regret many things, Giselle. You most of all, perhaps.”  
The doctor twisted, stabbing her with an insidious glance. “You've become a decent copy of your father, cold and manipulative. Perhaps that proud British woman is right, we all are now where you want and when you want - and now you're sending us God knows where.”  
“As if you weren't cold and manipulative - but I've wasted enough time. Fate awaits us.”  
She leaned over and grabbed her mother by the neck. Giselle fought and tried to bite her, but she also realized, shocked, that the delicate hand of her daughter had become strong as a steel claw so she couldn’t resist. She felt the rough edge of the bowl on the lips and then a burning liquid running down her throat. Then, the Cabal scientist felt suddenly light, volatile, her vision cleared and she knew nothing more.


	45. The Bitter Path

  
  
Kurtis crouched behind the rock while checking his last ammo magazine. He scanned the horizon, but the damn beast had disappeared. However, he didn't relax - he was too experienced to trust the apparent calm.  
He didn't know how long he'd been there. It wasn't how he imagined the Vortex, but in any case, Kurtis had always been a man of little imagination - he only knew that the time he'd spent there - days? weeks? months? Impossible to specify – had been a constant struggle for survival, a struggle he knew he was going to lose.  
The landscape before him was a barren extension, from which an end could not be seen, formed by dunes, dry soil and rocks. Nothing grew there and the sky above the place, if it could be called so, was like a carpet strewn with leaden storm clouds which neither moved nor poured any rain. At day, he was living in twilight - and at night, in the blackest darkness. There was no light, nothing moved, and the only living beings there were those constantly trying to kill him.  
The Lux Veritatis loaded the Boran-X and turned to scan again the desolate landscape. His odds of surviving were small – it had been a while since he'd run out of food and water, so he was eating the flesh and drinking the blood of his enemies and had only one last magazine. Fortunately, the Chirugai would serve him until the end.  
Though he'd suffered several wounds, he'd nothing left with which to treat them. All clothing left was a tattered T-shirt and the remains of what had been his pants, still half-hanging from his thighs.  
He possibly had never been worse and so certain of his impending death, but for the first time, he felt at peace with himself - he'd done the right thing. He'd walk the Bitter Path, but Lara would be safe. For a moment, he even thought of his unborn child, but instantly jerked him away from his mind – for he would never meet him.  
Suddenly, the Fighter's keen ear caught a gurgle. He rose violently and saw behind him a crouched manticore, looking at him with its grim smile.  
“You cunning bitch.” Kurtis snapped.  
Letting out a loud shriek, the demon pounced on him, digging its claws into his unprotected chest. It tore the flesh but didn't go far, as he rolled and kicked the beast off him. It was useless to try to empty the ammo mag on it, as there was just one thing really able to hurt it.  
But the manticore was a clever beast and repeatedly dodged the Chirugai's beam, while at the same time was reluctant to attack, leading to the depletion of its rival. Kurtis had counted on that and pretended to be tired, exposing himself for a moment. When the manticore pounced on his throat, he grabbed its head and sliced it with a single blow.  
The Lux Veritatis stood a moment, panting. His chest was covered in blood, but he didn't look at his wounds. The priority was to take profit of the corpse - he dismembered it and then swallowed the raw meat – for he'd no chance to light a bonfire - and drank the blood.  
How long would he hold on like that? For the moment that would do. So far the demons attacking him were overcoming with the degree of difficulty. Although he knew they would wait until he would be really weak to send something worse.  
At that point, only hatred kept him up. He'd wanted to live a normal life, but they had turned him into that. So, until they managed to kill him, he'd guarantee they’d regret it.

* * *

  
Marcus wasn't far from him, but they wouldn't meet, at least for the moment. The old man had been sitting under a rock. Unlike Kurtis, he was helpless and could've died right away, but nothing and no one came to attack him. As expected, the Bitter Path would be different for the Wise.  
Sighing, the old Healer checked the precious codex once again, but everything was already startlingly clear to him. He couldn't believe it, but he'd interpreted every word. The revelations were terrible- and it made sense that his mouth remained sealed until the right time.  
Sighing again, he wrapped himself in his robe and looked around. There was nothing. The only sound was silence. The primeval empty silence.

* * *

  
There was a flash of lightning in the distance – but the rain never came.  
Lara slowly opened her eyes. She was lying face up under a sky heavy with clouds. She sat up while scanning the desert around her. It wasn't Syria, for sure, but the Vortex - which she accepted naturally.  
A few steps away of her, there was Bathsheba. No one else. The Nephilim was kneeling on the ground, her head bowed and hands clasped in her lap. She seemed to be meditating.  
The Nephilim had never been openly violent towards them, but nevertheless Lara felt confused with that attitude of naive innocence - of a slaughtered lamb Lara would say, which the beauty had recently adopted and that the British explorer didn't know whether to believe or distrust.  
Lara's natural instinct won - she distrusted. “Hey!” She called out, standing up.  
Bathsheba's face turned slowly towards her. Her expression might have broken many hearts - but Lara's was made of steel. “You look like a martyr on the way to the arena!” She snapped.  
“That's what I am.” The Nephilim said in such a low voice that Lara barely heard her. Then she looked at the explorer, upright at her side. Lara wore a wide shirt to hide her incipient pregnancy, but her pants were long and tight and she had taken all her equipment with her. The British woman's eyes were impatient and distrustful. “Where are we? And why are you here with me?”  
“Somewhere in the Vortex, at the beginning of our Bitter Path. I must protect you and your unborn child so both can arrive safely to the altar of sacrifice.”  
“How kind of you!” Lara said ironically. “For a moment I felt almost tempted to _thank you_. Where are the others? I guess you'll have each one in place.”  
Bathsheba wrung her hands in a gesture of concern, totally unlike her. “I've no control over this situation anymore - it's up to Her. The others are here too, following their own path. They might be at least four steps away from you, but you won't see them, nor will they see you while traveling the Path.”  
“I should have imagined you'd plot something like that. Well, I'm not willing to waste time. Do whatever you want, I couldn't care less.” Lara turned away and walked to nowhere in particular. Bathsheba looked up and started to follow her quietly.  
As for Lara, she'd no intention of being sacrificed. She didn't know yet what to do, but she won't be slaughtered like a lamb - not without fighting, anyway.

* * *

  
At first, Giselle saw nothing. Since _that_ , in her opinion, was nothing – a desolate landscape made of sand and dust. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her skirt. Then she found she was more or less well, and breathed a sigh of annoyance. For someone like her, who believed in science and common sense over all, this situation was ridiculous, and nevertheless she remained sceptical of what might happen. However, that didn't stifle a glimpse of a confused thinking... would this be where she'd find Karel? It sounded stupid and childish, but nothing seemed to be in place anymore.  
She started walking, looking around in bewilderment. For once, she missed Schäffer at her side - the burly German was able to stay calm in the midst of an earthquake, and nothing managed to warm his head. She, however, despaired so easily.  
“Damn bitch!” The Cabal scientist yelled, outraged. “Bathsheba! Enough of this game! Get me out of here, _now!”_  
But only silence answered to her. Furious, she began to walk with more energy, but soon she had to stop and take off her shoes, because those sharp heels threatened to leave her buried in the malleable dirt. Distressed, she went on a while, she couldn't calculate how much, for there was no sun for orientation or any wind blowing, until her stockings ripped and her feet began to hurt. Then she fell to the ground, defeated, but determined not to mourn.  
“Cursed be the day I bred you.” She growled to her daughter. “I should have choked you in your crib!  
Then she snorted. Exhausted, Giselle laid back on the ground and remained a long time lost in her thoughts. She should have fallen asleep in exhaustion, but it was a restless sleep, full of tantalizing images.  
When she awoke, the reality proved to be worse than her dreams.  
It had darkened a bit, but everything was in place - not a cloud had moved. But where once was a barren desert, there was now a crowd.  
They were people, human beings - hundreds, thousands of them. Wherever she looked there were rows and rows of people lost in the horizon. They were stiff, silent, standing and staring at her, their faces completely expressionless.  
Giselle realized, terrified, that she could recognize them. Most were dressed in an unmistakable hospital gown - she'd given it to them when they were brought by force to her center. She clearly recognized the lovely girl who'd died months ago when trying a treatment with her. She noticed the Italian student whose life had been wiped away with injections when Karel was still alive, shortly before receiving the order to take care of Lara Croft. It had been months, years, since the death of those people, and she'd forgotten them as their bodies were cast into the sea, but now they were there and stared at her.  
The doctor began to tremble. Something told her that she should keep a cool head, to think rationally, to conclude that this was illusory, but those faces were horribly real, though no breeze ruffled their clothes or hair.  
The silence was deadly.  
“What do you want?” Giselle cried, but she got no answer. Then she turned sharply to gauge how many people were around her, but a scream got stuck in her throat when noticing the two people right behind her.  
One was Professor Vladimir Ivanoff - she recognized him despite his head was crushed as it was impossible to recognize his features. The skull had collapsed on one side and only one eye was staring at her through that bloody pulp. And right beside him, there was the Turkish girl - but unlike the others, she seemed to glow slightly. Her hair moved and the white robe she wore shook slightly.  
“What do you want?” The scientist repeated shakily. “Go away!”  
_Giselle._  
She winced. Selma had moved her lips, but the bloodless voice echoing in her ears didn't seem to come from them. The doctor stared at her, stunned.  
_Giselle..._  
“What!” She shouted at the edge of hysteria.  
_I'm talking to you, I who am on the edge between life and death, on behalf of those who have no voice._  
“What do you want from me?” Giselle cried a third time.  
_What you always wanted. Revenge._  
The scientists took a couple of steps and tried to move away, but she was surrounded.  
“This is madness.” She muttered. “You're dead. Dead, dead, dead! Go away and leave me alone.”  
Selma tilted her head slightly to one side.  
_That's not_ _possible._  
With a cry of rage, Giselle rushed at her, but her hands only reached air. She crossed the ethereal figure of the Turkish girl and felt absolutely nothing between her fingers. However, she had pounced on her so violently that she stumbled across her and hit the first person behind her. And this one, despite being, apparently, dead, was frighteningly strong and real. Giselle screamed again, but then that dead grabbed her neck and started squeezing it.

* * *

  
Maddalena had never been so scared in her life.  
She'd been so blindly confident that after she crossed the limbo she'd be with Kurtis, that finding herself alone in that inhospitable place made her panic. She looked around and when seeing nothing, she fell on the dry land and began to rock back and forth, moaning. This didn't last long - suddenly she heard her hated and eternal companion.  
_Why are you crying, Giulia? Did not I give you what you most wanted?_  
“He's not here.” She said.  
_Oh, yes! Very close. But you can't see him._  
“I want to see him.”  
_Very good. To me there's nothing impossible. But I warn you he won't see you, nor you will be able to interact with him, at least for now._  
“I don't care. I want to know if he's OK.”  
As soon as she said that Maddalena saw him on the horizon. She stood up with a leap and ran toward him, but stopped after at a distance - a precaution she didn't need to take.  
Kurtis' status was terrible - though he seemed quite clear and confident. At that time he was kneeling on one knee on the floor and tearing the last shreds of what had been his T-shirt, which no longer covered his torso and only hindered his movements. He quickly tore it into strips which he used to wrap some wounds, while scanning around with a sharp glance – that convinced Maddalena he really couldn't see her.  
“I can't understand why he has to suffer that much.” The redhead muttered aloud. “I can't see why you're so cruel with him.”  
_It's the eternal war, Giulia - but it will come to an end soon. Very soon, yes._  
There was a roar in the distance. Kurtis rose rapidly, holding the Chirugai in his hand. Maddalena watched, horrified, how horrible deformed beings emerged from the sand and approached him. They sought to surround him, but the Lux Veritatis quickly went back with a grim smile as he demanded them, provocatively waving the hand, to come at him.  
Then she understood in her inside that her Bitter Path would be to witness his suffering - unable to speak to him, unable to provide him comfort or relief, unable to help him in any way.  
_Exactly, my dear Giulia._

* * *

  
Lara looked around and retreated behind a rock. For a long time, she'd felt something, but couldn't tell what. Bathsheba, at her side, had the exasperating appearance of knowing what it was to come and when it would happen, but the explorer was determined to not to beg for information - let her be with her mysteries!  
The British explorer calmly loaded her guns, while Bathsheba scanned the horizon.  
“Here they come.” The Nephilim announced with indifference.  
They were mild dark shapes moving at surprising speed. At first Lara didn't distinguish them well, but then she saw their stout, anthropoid forms, their heads crowned with twisted horns like those of rams. They had strange lower limbs, like those of an ostrich, that allow them to run at an incredible speed.  
“Incubi.” Bathsheba said again.  
“And I thought these things only existed in medieval Bibles.” Lara said. Not even in these circumstances was she reluctant to make a joke.  
The demons' growls mingled with cruel and cold laughter. They seemed to have fun with what awaited them.  
“It's a hunt.” The Nephilim said once more.  
“And we're their prey!” Lara climbed behind the rock and prepared her gun. She aimed with cold precision and the first shot struck one and wounded another. The first one burst into a black cloud, but to her horror, the blood left in the second wound generated another incubus who quickly joined the game. “Dammit!” She cursed. There were eight in total – she must _not_ fail.  
“Their weak point is the brow.” The beauty said.  
“I've already noticed that, Miss Perfection!” Lara hated being bothered when targeting. With perfect coldness she achieved to kill four before they reached them.

The British explorer was not surprised to see that incubi didn't attack Bathsheba - in fact, they didn't cast a glance towards her, even though they tried by all means not to brush against her, and gather around the rock, laughing derisively. The faces of those creatures could have challenged any painting by Hieronymus Bosch. Their sharp jaws stretched to the sides of their faces, and surprisingly, they were blind, but they seemed perfectly able to sniff the woman. One of them threw a blow in Lara's direction, who was balancing on the sharp rock, and hit her in the thigh. She felt something like a tremendous burning sensation and warm blood sliding down her leg, but she didn't even stop to look at her wound and neither allow herself to groan in pain. The attack had put the incubus at her mercy and she killed him with one shot.  
Suddenly, Lara felt a tug in the back and lost her balance. Letting out a scream, she fell back and landed among the tangle of incubi. Three pairs of claws hastened to tear her skin. She didn't hesitate to take out her knife and stab them. The cries of those nasty things deafened her.  
Through the corner of her eye Lara saw Bathsheba climbing the rock, looking like a fallen fairy in that broken dress. The Nephilim closed her eyes and formed an oval with two hands - almost instantly her whole body began to glow with a wonderful blue light. The freshness she emitted reached the British explorer's burning skin.  
The jaws of an incubus sank into Lara's shoulder. The pain was more than she could tolerate and uttering a cry, she stirred and stabbed him. She saw her blade penetrating in slow motion between the two white blooded cells that were the sightless eyes of the creature, and immediately it disintegrated into a black steam. She kicked angrily at the other two, which were practically pulling the flesh from her legs by biting her, and taking advantage of they were engulfing some of her skin, she gave them two well-aimed blows of knife in their front. Instantly she'd escaped from them.  
Lara collapsed, sore, panting, her legs soaked with blood and full of bites. She noticed her own blood running down back from her shoulder. The pain was quite sharp - although nothing was burning like the fury she felt inside. “I should do the same to you!” She yelled.  
Bathsheba glanced among her blue aura, and said: “You ungrateful. Who's been protecting both of you?”  
Stunned, Lara realized that at no time during the painful battle she'd been aware that, in fact, _she was pregnant_ , and could have had worse consequences. She gasped, looked at Bathsheba, and then saw something floating suspended on the oval formed by the Nephilim's hands, joined at the tips of her fingers.  
It was the small image, similar to a hologram, of a tiny human embryo.


	46. Endless Agony

_Day 22 in the Vortex._

_May the Light forgive me, but I'm sullying this ancient manuscript with an infamous pen and a clumsy trembling handwriting - for these last blank pages, I suspect, are left by the Sibilla Herophilis for me. Perhaps I, Marcus, the Wise, had to write this, like another part of those great evil plans that will take us all._

_I say it's the twenty second day and it seems laughable, given that it's difficult to perceive the passage of time here. Nothing changes in this vast expanse. But I'm able to perceive it, perhaps because again, that's what matters to someone. They have been slowly creeping, and here I am, at the end of my path, without having advanced anywhere and with almost no food or drink. Anyway, I know I won't die until my task is completed, whatever it is._

_Through subtle mists I perceive my other colleagues, who don't perceive me or are not able to perceive each other. I confess I'm finding myself maddening when witnessing Brother Kurtis' slow agony, as it must be for poor Giulia. I wonder why this evil plan has thrown her into the midst of this grim scenario. But demons have always loved gratuitous suffering. In that, they're not very different from humans._

_Now, when finally the Warrior seems to be delivering the last remnants of his physical strength under the relentless onslaught of our ancestral enemies, I can't but admire Lara's strength. She's not been treated with more compassion. But her legs haven't trembled at any time, nor she feels pity for the uncertain future of her unborn child. She has received more wounds than her body could fit and some are unbearable, but I haven't seen her mask of hardness break at all. Perhaps she's the strongest of us all._

_What I can say about Bathsheba, who remains an impenetrable mystery to me? She looks like a ghost. I know she can see me, since she looks back at me while the others can't do so, but she always does so in silence. What goes through your mind, Blessed Daughter? You know I believe in your purity and your kindness, but if you don't fight against your nature, you won't be saved. No one will be saved._

_In the midst of this crazy series of empty hours, knowing that here time crawls as it flies in the mortal world, a mysterious revelation has come to me in a terrible and certain way. I know why the Amazon and her unborn child must end at Lilith's altar. I dare not write it yet. I fear this abomination takes shape and strength when writing about it. I'm an old superstitious man and the idea of the aberration awaiting Lara makes me nauseous. And the very idea of Bathsheba consenting to such thing crumbles my faith at times, because now I know, fully conscious and lucid, that even Joachim Karel, who was a being without feelings or scruples, would have never tolerated such an action. More than anything because of what this means._

_Bathsheba must quit this madness, she must rebel against what she's being prepared to comply with all gentleness, or mankind will be lost. It breaks my heart, which I still have despite all my years, when seeing this grotesque scene, but the good of mankind is worth the suffering of a righteous man like Kurtis. But if Bathsheba's plans are fulfilled, so much pain, such an endless agony, will have been for nothing._

 

* * *

 

_What's this? A Lux Veritatis, caught off his guard?_

At the sound of this mocking cruel voice Kurtis slightly opened his eyes. He was leaning on another rock, where he'd dropped himself after his last fight. Of the bloody spoils he'd done with the demons that had attacked him previously, there was nothing left. Anyway, why be surprised.

“Wrong, Moloch.” He whispered, opening his lips, sticky with cotted blood. “I noticed you a while ago.”

A dry, cracked laughter rang in his ears. The creature before him was a being of nightmare, a terrible incubus. Tall and built like a man, his body was covered with scales. A white, red-eyed snake coiled around his naked shape. The face was horrible, with snake eyes and a mouth full of huge triangular teeth like saws, twisted into a hideous smile. The ovoid head was crowned with a series of twisted horns. And faint leathery wings completed the rest.

_Look at him. The indomitable Kurtis Trent. A living legend. Although I liked you better when you used to gut soldiers in the Gulf. You were the most polished killing machine of the whole damn Legion. It was so amusing watching you. Since your brains melted for that British slut, you're truly worthless._

“Well, Moloch.” Kurtis gurgled, spitting a clot of blood. “You speak like a legionnaire.”

_I had the chance to learn a lot from mortals - from you, especially. Admit it, you're just a cutthroat, but so much fun we had with you. And so much fun we're going to have now..._ He left the sentence unfinished to display another monstrous smile.

Kurtis made an insane grin. His body was limp, relaxed, his head cocked, as if his body couldn't react or as if that terrible presence wasn't able to intimidate him.

“You outta thank me, Moloch. Last time we met I almost got your ass.”

_Indeed, we've a little unfinished business, Lux Veritatis._

“Right. You outta kiss my ass now that you're the top dog in all of fucking Hell.”

Moloch laughed again. _Correct. You killed the old Karel. When finishing the Nephilim, the incubi inherited the kingdom of the Father - and I enjoy a new position. Very true. But still, I won't kiss your ass... I'd rather kiss your guts, when I'll rip them out._

“Shame. I don't think you can deal with her.”

The incubus' hideous face twisted into a look of hatred. _That one who intends to be a hybrid Nephilim? The one who calls herself Bathsheba?_

“Hush hush. Your Lady likes her. I think you know the incubi will be sent to the seventh circle again. Go back to begging souls.”

_Not if Moloch can prevent that._

“The only one who can stop her is me. “

_You are no longer needed! You don't have the Periapt Shard. And we can use that damn oldster, the Healer, to finish her - for all I know, she has a stupid confidence in him._

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor Moloch. So much time raping nuns has melted your scarce brains.”

The incubus let out a deafening roar and slapped Kurtis with his claw. He bent to one side, letting out a gasp of pain.

_You're just a wreck. Sooner or later you will run out of strength. You're nothing but a mortal. Did I tell you how your father cried when being crucified? It was pathetic._

“Try harder. My father's in peace.”

Moloch leaned, grabbed Kurtis' hair and forced him to look at him. The devil's slavering jaws were just a few inches from his face. _But I know what's your soft point, Soldier of Light. And I'll tell you: that whore you impregnated is here with us. And we'll have so much fun with her. So much fun!_

He was still saying this when Kurtis' hand snapped him and there was a metallic click. The demon roared in pain and sat howling - the Chirugai's blade had hit him, destroying his right eye.

Kurtis jumped while Moloch was unprotected, wiping the mixture of black blood and fluids flowing from the socket's eye. He glanced bitterly at the Lux Veritatis, who provocatively showed him his deadly weapon.

“Such a bad liar, Moloch.”

_You'd wish that, son of a bitch. You'd wish it was a lie._

“This is boring.”

_Let's have fun, then._ With a tremendous roar, he spread out his wings and rose, circling his opponent.

Kurtis knew what to expect from this attack. He crouched on the ground, clutching the Chirugai, and tried to ignore the throbbing pain of his wounds. He peered for a moment at the ancient demon, who remained suspended in the air, examining him carefully.

“Gotta admit I kinda missed you.” Kurtis said, taking a handful of sand from the ground and rubbing his hands together before taking the gun again. “Hell wouldn't be the same without Moloch.”

Releasing a cruel laugh, the incubus plummeted. Kurtis kept his position, and at the last moment he stretched the Chirugai ahead and activated it. The blow was violent enough to have him and his attacker rolling on the ground, but when Moloch rose again, he had a terrible gash in his scaled belly while Kurtis was unharmed.

“As cocky as ever.” The Lux Veritatus mocked. “Still falling into the same traps.”

Another laugh accompanied the further descent of the incubus. The strategy would not work again, so this time, the Fighter dodged the attack of his opponent and leapt back. Moloch laughed and went down again at high speed. He couldn't see so well with one eye and Kurtis took the chance to punch him in the face - he cut his knuckles with the demon's scaled skin, but managed to unbalance and send him to the ground amid a cloud of bulky dust.

Moloch had barely landed when his adversary pounced on him. He could have easily shaken him off, as he was twice as big and brutal, but then he noticed the Chirugai's bloody blades just a few inches from his remaining eye. He hated that damn weapon with all his might. All hellish creatures had learned to fear and hate it - so he didn't move.

Despite his exhaustion, Kurtis wasn't willing to be kind - he grabbed Moloch by the horns and twisted his head viciously, putting his blade on the demon's face. “Let's chat.” He hissed in his ear.

The incubus chuckled. _What do you want me to tell you? Your fate? But that would spoil the fun._

“If Lara's here, show me.”

_I can't._

“Liar.”

_Angels and demons don't lie, motherfucker._

Another twinge made his neck bones crack. He saw his own ophidian eyes reflected in the _ferilium_ of the Chirugai's blade.

“The Lux Veritatis don't lie either, so listen to this: I'm gonna break your neck.”

Then something unexpected happened: the white snake, which had been dormant the whole time, reacted suddenly and looked up. Kurtis was not expecting it. The reptile bit him on the neck and, with a brutal strength threw him aside. The Lux Veritatis got up instantly, but the sharp lash of Moloch's tail whipped his face and knocked him down again. Kurtis' face broke into a hot sticky wave of pain and for a moment he lost sight of everything, for his eyes were full of blood.

Moloch's claw grabbed him by the neck and lifted him into the air with the same ease with which someone would raise a child. The Chirugai slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. The incubus kept him caught for a moment, raised him above his head, and kept looking at him with cold satisfaction. _Come on, do a favor for your friend Moloch. Beg for your life._

Even through the yarns of blood sliding down his face, the devil noticed Kurtis' sarcastic grin. He tried to speak but his voice came out weak. Moloch loosened his grip to let him talk.

“I'd ask you to do me the favor and kill me, but you got no balls for that.”

With a roar, Moloch slammed him on the floor. The blow caught his left leg in a bad position and twisted his ankle.

_Killing you? This is only the beginning._

Kurtis thought that brutal beating was going to continue, but then the nightmare creature, with a sinister smile that promised future punishments, vanished into thin air.

 

* * *

 

Maddalena told herself a thousand times she was a coward. She'd curled up next to Kurtis, while he, barely conscious, was sleeping on the rock, stroking his face and hair even she knew he wasn't going to notice. When that devil appeared, however, she'd no courage to face him. She ran to hide behind a rock, listening, trembling at every blow, the terrible conversation and brutal attack, crying silently. Not even the certainty that she wouldn't have been able to do anything to help set her free from her oppressive burden of guilt. For a moment she thought that aberration tormenting Kurtis had looked toward her and smiled with satisfaction, as if he knew she was watching that and he enjoyed it, but she couldn't have assured that.

When that horrible creature disappeared, she got ready to run to the Lux Veritatis’ side again, but there was nothing she could do. Kurtis swore between his teeth and wiped the blood from his face. His left foot was twisted in a horrible position. He couldn't walk.

The Italian woman was still leaning over him when suddenly everything vanished from her sight. She cried and looked around. No sign of Kurtis, or the rock, or traces of blood on the ground. She began to tremble.

_Someone wants to greet you, Giulia_ , said the Voice.

A shadow took shape around her. She turned, surprised, and found Daniele Monteleone.

He was the last person she expected to see there. She stood open-mouthed, gazing at him. The absolute certainty that he was dead reached her before even noticing his _rigor mortis_ , the black and blue of his lips and his dead eyes, not to mention that great bullet hole in the center of his forehead. He was sitting in a chair, as he used to do in Italy, and turned in his hand an empty glass.

“Daniele!” She cried hoarsely.

The _capo_ looked up, expressionless, and glanced at her for a long time. She trembled from head to toe. Finally, she dared to take a few steps. “Daniele ... who ... who ...?”

_Lara Croft._

The familiar voice had sounded without those deceased lips moving an inch. With a gesture empty of expression, he brought the glass to his mouth and pretended to drink, but there was nothing to drink.

Maddalena sobbed. “Oh, Daniele, I didn't know... she...nobody said anything...I thought you were alive!”

_I paid my debt, Maddalena. This is farewell._

The redhead girl reached out and touched Monteleone's arm. She found him cold, hard and rigid. Her knees buckled and collapsed at his feet. “Among all men I ever met, only you cared about me.” She muttered.

_Among all women I ever met, only you loved me - and yet I failed you. Maddalena... carissima...you were right to leave me._

Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t take notice of them. She buried her head in Monteleone's thigh. A withered hand played with her curls.

“Right?” She sobbed. “It's been a big mistake. I left my safe and strong position by your side to chase a man who doesn't love me. I'm lost, Daniele, I don't know what I'm doing here. I just hope to die, now that I know you're dead.” She could not even feel hate against Lara for killing him- just a great emptiness and despair on the inside.

_I had at my hand the best woman in this world, and I treated her like a whore. A queen's life is what I should have given you. I wasted my time on my reputation and my pride. Now I have nothing. Forgive me, Maddalena._

The woman's shoulders shook. “You made me happy... forgive me, Daniele.”

The _mafioso's_ rigid fingers took Maddalena's chin and lifted her face. She found herself looking at the face of a dead man.

_Do you know why are you here?_

“By leaving the man who could protect me, I chased another one I can't have.”

_But even that you did according to the plans of someone, Maddalena. A great sacrifice will be required of you._

“I don't care. If he doesn't love me and you no longer live, I've nothing to lose.”

Monteleone was speechless. Trembling, the Italian woman went up to meet his blue lips. She'd barely touched them when they seemed to move again.

_You're the Innocent of the prophecy, Maddalena._

She stopped. “I thought I'd be the Impure. I'm a prostitute.”

_The body’s sins don't harm the soul. You know, cara mia. It's hatred, bitterness and blood what defile our souls._

“Bathsheba, Kurtis, Lara...even the child she carries in her womb, are a hundred times more innocent than I am.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Kurtis is suffering terribly, I can't stand it anymore.”

_No more than you, Maddalena, no more than you. Everyone's paying their debts. You too, carissima, but for nothing. I've already paid, so I'm leaving._

While saying this he began to vanish into thin air. She, terrified, tried to detain him, but her hands grasped only air. “Daniele! No! No, please! Don't leave me alone! Take me with you!”

But he vanished, swallowed by nothingness, and she was left alone, kneeling on the hard ground, facing the _vacuum_ with sobs.

_You really loved me, bella mia!_

 

* * *

 

Giselle landed on her face for the umpteenth time. She stood panting, touching her lips dripping with blood. She looked back - the mob went ahead, unstoppable, following her. She didn't know how long she'd been on the run. They walked slowly, like the zombies they were, she thought angrily. It didn't matter. If she stopped, they will reach her sooner or later.

So she'd spent days, weeks maybe. She'd lost her shoes a while ago. On her legs just dangled some bloody remains of her stockings, full of cuts, bruises and abrasions after having fallen a thousand times. Her skirt was in tatters. The hair, disheveled and bloody, was shriveled to dust. In her life she'd felt so dirty, miserable and angry.

“Back off, motherfuckers!” She screamed in a shrill and torn voice. “Leave me alone!”

Never in her life she'd used such language, but she was out of herself. If they laid a finger on her, they beat, slapped, trampled, tried to strangle her. She'd her hair torn in strands - and although she'd fought back, nothing could harm those things, for they were already dead.

Beside her she saw Selma's ethereal silhouette, staring at her with serene indifference. The Cabal scientist extended a hand full of cuts, with broken nails, trying to grab her, but the Turkish girl was only a wisp of fog. “Tell them to go!” Giselle screamed.

Selma's eyes met those of her, impenetrable.

_I told you I can't stop them. They want revenge for what you did to them - and they will continue until satisfied._

“But you’re not!” The doctor exploded.

_I'm not dead yet - and I wish to be so I can join them and destroy you like you destroyed me._

Giselle screamed with a long, inhuman howl. The shadow of her pursuers was already projected on her. She rose and ran again, panting, breathless. She took a moment to look back, and that was her misfortune - she stumbled over a stone suspiciously placed there, and then she fell down and dislocated her knee.

Letting out a cry of pain, she held the joint. She began to crawl with her hands in despair, shredding the rest of her clothes.

But she could not move faster - soon, thousands of cold hands fell back on her.

 

* * *

 

_“_ What was my father like?”

The question caught Lara off guard. She was bandaging a rustle in her thigh. She looked up, startled, and stared at Bathsheba, who sat near on the ground, her knees together and legs bent to one side with modesty.

“Are you trying to start a conversation with me?”

Bathsheba grinned. “Who else? Your child?

Lara's mouth twitched. “Still better conversation than yours.” She muttered, squeezing the bandage hard. “As for your father, all I have to say is that I hope he's rotting in hell.”

“There's no hell. The _Nephili_ , like the rest of the immortals...vanish when destroyed. Only mortals know other life, because they have a soul. We don't.”

“You don't say it.” The British explorer growled, wiping traces of blood with saliva, not wanting to waste water.

Bathsheba smiled weakly. “I think he was different from me.”

“Of course. He was a man.”

Still not used to Lara's sarcasm, the Nephilim raised her eyebrows until the British explorer chuckled. “Indeed, he wasn't like you. He wasn't so...good looking.” Lara practically spat the word. “He was not trying to make friends all the time. The victim does not sympathize with the executioner, so shut up and leave me alone.”

Bathsheba ignored her and added: “My father wanted to make a child with you. He chose you for your merits. _Nephili_ felt repelled by mortals, as far as I know.”

“That pervert Karel wanted to humiliate and take revenge on me because I'd killed his precious Sleeper.”

“However, I'd rather have you as a mother.”

Lara threw her head back and laughed. “Me too!” She hissed. “I'd have stabbed you with a Periapt Shard right from your birth - and all my problems solved!”

Far from being offended, Bathsheba smiled. “Life's not _that_ easy, right?”

The British explorer wasn't willing to chat anymore, so she leaned on a rock – was it there before? - and closed her eyes, ready to rest for at least a while, without giving a single look to her unwanted companion.

Bathsheba watched her in silence. Lara had dropped her head on her shoulder and a lock of brown, bloodstained hair covered half of her face. She was bruised and slightly wounded by the constant attacks of the Vortex's creatures, but this didn't seem to bring down her strength. Of course, she didn't know about what tormented Bathsheba, a burden heavier than that child who'd never be born.

Basically, the beautiful Nephilim envied mortals - she'd envied them since meeting Lara and Kurtis. She would never tell anyone, but Bathsheba, hidden in states and dimensions to which only an immortal could access, had spied on them often. Specifically when they locked themselves in their room and had fallen in each other's arms. Bathsheba knew what this meant and why they felt a fatal attraction to an act which went beyond the mere biological functions, but which she couldn't understand. For the pure Nephilim, there was something nasty, dirty, in that kind of slow, prolonged dance in which two people were undressing, kissing, biting and licking, then merging into a hectic wave of entwined bodies, watered with sweat and saliva, to gobble each other amid a cacophony of sighs, moans and cries of authentic pleasure, which she initially confused with the most intense pain.

The first time Bathsheba almost vomited in disgust. But even she wasn't away from the fascination that caused in her - night after night, she went to spy on them, at least if she hadn't something else to do. Gradually the disgust disappeared. Her pulse accelerated contemplating them, she who in nearly three years of life was virgin and had never allowed anyone to lay a finger on her. There was something incredibly mysterious and sacred in that, something forbidden to the immortals. If Karel had been alive, he'd have told his daughter, with evident contempt, that was a nasty price to be paid for having offspring. The _Nephili_ had mated only to perpetuate themselves and those were cold, mechanical junctions devoid of any emotion, which had nothing to do with what she was witnessing.

Then Bathsheba felt almost sick with envy - she wanted to experience what they felt. It was an almost feverish, ill desire. She didn't realize that any man in the world would have sold his soul to have her in his arms, because she wasn't aware of her superhuman beauty. She'd barely looked herself in a mirror and the face that stared back to her was quite common to her. The very idea of a mortal doing to her what Kurtis did to Lara made her shiver from head to toe, in the midst of a limbo between absolute horror and curiosity.

And that, _that_ didn't match at all with what Gertrude and Giselle had taught her. Kurtis Trent was supposed to be a murderer, a cruel and revolting butcher who enjoyed bloodshed and had vowed to wipe out all the immortals. Lara Croft was a whore, for women like her could only be whores, and she was as sadistic as him, enjoying all what she'd destroyed. That had nothing to do with what she was witnessing. The man's murderous hands trembled slightly when stroking her body, when crossing it gently with the fingertips, as if afraid of getting burned by the heat of her skin. That harlot, supposedly unable of feeling any emotion towards anyone in the world, closed her eyes and delivered herself to those caresses, those kisses, shuddering when the strong arms of her companion grasped her against him or lunged her at each impulse of...

Bathsheba blushed to the ears. She touched her face, stunned, and thanked Lara couldn't see her, asleep as she was. What was wrong with her?

_A part of you is human, Bathsheba, and you can't change this_ , Marcus had told her repeatedly. Now those words tormented her. Not even the blood of Lilith could change that.

 

* * *

 

He crept carefully to a couple of rocks he hadn't seen before. Nevermind - he knew they had put them there expressly for him.

“So nice of you.” Kurtis growled.

His foot was sprained and bruised. He wouldn’t be able to stand on it again - unless he placed it in its original position. After touching it he noticed it wasn't broken, but soon it would swell and he would need to take off the boot. Well, the faster he acted, the sooner that will end.

The Lux Veritatis placed his foot on the narrow gap left between two rocks, and once it was securely fastened, he took a deep breath, counted to three and swung his leg sharply. The creaking of the bruised joint when returning to its place, along with the lash of pain, almost made him pass out. He stumbled and fell on the ground, releasing a string of swearwords, blasphemies and curses he hadn't used since the days of the Legion.

Lying on his back, panting, he vowed to kill the damn Moloch as soon as he saw him ahead. For a while he looked at those cold clouds and the static sky until he fainted, exhausted.

He was awakened by the cry of a baby.

Kurtis sat up sharply, with the Chirugai in his hand, and looked around, his heart pounding. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it had been madness.

There was nothing there except the same desolate landscape. However, he still heard the child mourning clearly, as if he were next to him.

The Lux Veritatis rose awkwardly. When standing on his injured foot, a wave of pain like liquid fire ascended through his leg. The swelling wouldn't go for a while, but at least the joint was in place. He walked a dozen steps, limping, and stopped. The crying grew louder and louder.

“New joke, huh?” Kurtis shouted in full voice, looking around. _“Try harder!”_

At that time he still didn't know that the cries of that unseen baby would last for the next few hours, more and more intense, ringing in his ears. There was something desperate in those sobs, as if suffering an unbearable pain or crushed by the utmost sadness.

The Fighter would never know, but he endured for eight hours. After that, his calm gradually faded, while that whimpering intensified more and more. Soon restlessness and anger seized him at the feeling of abandonment coming from that cry. What remaining nerve of his were they trying to touch?

“Enough.” Kurtis muttered through clenched teeth. He pushed hard the intertwined fingers to control the nervous tremor of his hands. “Stop it!”

Those words, hissed through clenched teeth, turned to shouts of rage four hours later. They wanted to drive him mad - and they were getting it. He tried to close his eyes but those sobs still were haunting him. He covered his ears, but they were still resounding in his head. At the end he fell into a dark blackness, shrunk in himself, rocking inconsolably, while awaiting the end of that ordeal.

The Lux Veritatis opened his eyes when noticing the metallic smell of blood. Before him a horrible scene was displayed.

Scattered across the sand, like stones thrown at random, there were hundreds, thousands of tiny little bodies of babies. Most were foetuses who had not completed their growth - some bloody, others already rotting, some cut in pieces, others with the umbilical cord still hanging, or partly involved in a bruised placenta. He noticed children of several months of gestation, none exceeded the year of life.

The crying went increasing further its intensity, if that was possible.

Kurtis rose sharply. He sought the answer to that horrible sight sent by the Vortex and the Gift, always witty, finally revealed to him what that meant, why they were showing that to him, what they were warning to him - and it was too much.

The Fighter screamed in a horrible way and fell to his knees, clutching his head, defeated. That was it. He couldn't resist any longer that existence. He didn't want to live to see if that fateful omen was fulfilled or not. They had already won.

With a horrible, paused determination, he put his hand to his belt and unhooked the deadly Chirugai. Slowly he approached the disk's edge to his throat. Actually, it was easy - one command would be enough, a mere imperative of his mind, and the blades would spread. Knowing the violent extent of that weapon, certainly not only they will stab his neck, but also virtually behead him in one blow. Far better.

Kurtis closed his eyes to the sea of small bodies - quivering, spinning his heads towards him and spasmodically waving their arms and legs - and took a breath to activate the razors.

A steady, strong hand appeared out of nowhere and violently grabbed his wrist, giving him a brutal tug forwards at the same time the blades spread. The Lux Veritatis just felt a slight sting in his throat, tearing him only a trickle of blood. He yelled in frustration when realizing he'd failed, and as he struggled to understand what had just happened, a powerful, confident sounded voice at his side.

_Courage, my son! You're not alone anymore!_


	47. Tears Of Blood

Kurtis looked up. Next to him stood a man about fifty years old, covered in a black hooded robe, so that only his face could be seen - very attractive once, now crossed by deep lines of expression as a result of a dominant spirit. The hair, as the slight beard, were gray-haired while his eyes glared at him with an intense distinctive blue glow.

A strong and wiry hand clutched his shoulder while snatching the Chirugai from his powerless fingers. His touch was amazingly real and consistent. _I didn't send you this to cut off your head, as you can imagine._

“You’re here.” Kurtis murmured, smiling slightly.

 _Looks like I've arrived in time_ , said Konstantin, without moving his lips, as all dead people seemed to talk in that place.

The old Fighter sat, staring inquisitively at his son. He retained the same stern and inflexible look Kurtis remembered in him.

“You're not doing me a favor.” The ex-legionnaire muttered.

_For the Light's sake, Kurtis. You haven't come this far to end like this._

Kurtis tried to stand up, but again the pain forced him to sit down. “You know nothing.” He muttered. “You've no idea of what I've endured.”

_The Lux Veritatis are martyrs. We were born to suffer._

“Fuck that shit!” Kurtis exploded, glaring at him.

_Language, boy._

“I'm not your puppet anymore, Father.” The young Fighter turned her face. “If you're here to give a speech for the Order's cause, you can go back to rest.” He bent and buried his head in his arms. He was exhausted, too exhausted.

Konstantin squeezed the Chirugai in his hand and stared at the horizon. _I know you endure a heavy burden, Kurtis._

“A _heavy burden?”_ His son laugh bitterly. “I fucked up my life. 35 years old and I'm done.”

_I know, but there's still more to be done. You know it..._

“Why’re you here?” Kurtis cut him off.

_First, to prevent you from doing something stupid. And second, to guide you, Son, because you're absolutely lost. To help you to avoid the upcoming disaster. I barely knew you and we never got along, but you're my son, my blood flows through your veins and you're the strongest Fighter ever born._

“Yeah, sure.” Kurtis laughed sarcastically.

_Besides, there was a time you wanted revenge. You saved your mother and have always fought the demons. I owe you one._

“What I did, I did because I had no other choice. I'm not the hero you expected me to be. So leave me alone, I want to die and you're in my way.”

_The woman you love is here, in the Vortex._

There was a moment of silence, in which Kurtis looked at his father with an impenetrable expression. Anyone would've assumed that he didn’t give a damn about it, but Konstantin knew that face, similar to his own when inside his last will was crumbling under an apparent calm.

_Even you know what that diabolical vision which almost leads you to suicide means. Lara will die on Lilith's altar, and your child with her. You must stop it._

“How!” He cried in despair, covering with a sharp blow of his arm that immensity. “I can't see her, Father! Not her or the others that were supposed to be here! Why have this farsee if I can't use it!”

_The Gift is in you, but you never mastered it as you should. You're powerful, but the power takes you, you don't take it. Only when you accept this and truly internalize the Gift, as you should have done so long ago - not rebuking it like a cancer or a disgusting ulcer; only then, you'll embrace all the power within you, in a way neither I nor your grandfather ever achieved._

Kurtis stared at him for a moment in silence. Then he said without apparent emotion: “Mother misses you.”

A shadow of pain crossed Konstantin's pale face. When raising, Kurtis saw traces of nails in his father's wrists. His bare feet poking under his tunic were also nailed.

_I never gave her what she deserved. I've always dreamed of her. Every moment that passes is one less time for us to meet again. I also sacrificed my whole life, Kurtis._

“Gimme that.” The young Fighter said, noting the Chirugai.

_When you don't try to cut off your head again._

“No. For Lara.” He answered laconically.

Konstantin handed it over. The touch of his father was cold, hard, but real. It was still amazing. _The key is to unleash the Light within you._

“I don't believe in the Light.”

_That's your problem. You deny what makes you strong, and instead you believe in demons, immortals, in all that assaults you and makes you weaker._

“I can see them - not the Light.”

_Because you don't believe in it. You've grown up denying who you are and rejecting the Gift that was in you. Now it’s too late. You may need to pay a high price for the Light to come to you._

_“_ I'm sick of riddles. You talk like a Nephilim.”

_Perhaps if we'd been as honest as they were, we would've had more success. But we're mortal and carry around these flaws. You should stop resisting what you are. You've never been an ordinary man, and you'll never be. Neither the Legion nor war have changed that. Renouncing Lara won't avail you, she's followed you knowing she may die._

“That's so typical of her.” Kurtis sighed, surveying the landscape.

_If you can't get to her level, you don't deserve her - and that can be done only by recognizing who you are and why you're here._

“The only thing I've always wanted is to live in peace.” Kurtis turned his face towards his father. “But you all denied this to me - angels and demons. If I'd done what you asked from me I'd have ended crucified by your side.”

Konstantin nodded his head in affirmation. _True. And then, with your death, a path of destiny would've been cut. Lara wouldn't have meet you, she wouldn't have conceived a child from you, and probably now she would be far away and safe from the darkness. But Eckhardt and Karel would've won, or perhaps they would've found her and killed her for intruding. The world would be a very dark place now. Nothing happens by chance, but you've taken too long a time denying yourself. It's time to come to the Light. To that Light. You must reacquaint yourself._

“Sounds like Buddhist crap.” Kurtis' tone was quite sarcastic.

 _You haven't changed at all. You're like me._ There was, nevertheless, affection in his voice, in a man who'd barely had any chance to show affection in his whole life. _There's something you must know. Something related to you, and that's the reason why you're not a common Lux Veritatis. The Order always wondered why you, me, your grandfather, and our ancestors were different, a lineage of Fighters as never had existed. There was a feature that distinguished us, deep blue eyes inherited unchanged to any genetic mix, but there wasn't any other proof. Until I died and went to the other side I didn't know this terrible secret. Bathsheba knows this and the awareness of that truth is tormenting and destroying her. That should be your main advantage over her - you must not be affected by this._

“How did she know?”

_She learned this through a Vatican cardinal, a certain Ercole Monteleone._

“Sounds familiar to me.” Kurtis muttered, remembering the _capo_ who'd almost managed to kill Lara.

_In his youth Karel himself had visited him and told him the truth. I don't understand why he did it, maybe he was so twisted, so much that I never suspected he was a Nephilim, at least until I was crucified and I could see him from above. Then the blindfold dropped from my eyes. Too late._

“What terrible secret is that?” Seeing the hesitation of his father, Kurtis laughed. “C'mon, I'm a tough guy. I don't think this will kill me.”

_Centuries ago, Lilith was incarnated in a mortal woman. She did it to punish Her children, the Nephilim._

“Thought she'd fucked them up enough by creating the Periapt, the Shards, and the Scepter, and then giving them to us.”

_Her treachery went further. She seduced a Fighter and bred a child. That brother believed she was a mortal woman, but he never heard again of her until a baby of few months was returned to the Order, with startling blue eyes not belonging to his father._

Konstantin paused to glare at his son, who looked at him for a moment in silence, speechless. Then the young Fighter buried his head in his chest and his shoulders began to shake from chuckling. Finally, Kurtis threw his head back and laughed, though it was a mirthless laugh.

_I'd say you find it funny that our bloodline descends from Lilith Herself._

“Whatever. So that bothers Bathsheba? I don't give a damn whether I descended from Lilith or anyone else.”

_This makes us, to our regret, brothers of blood with the Nephili themselves. That's what's tormenting Bathsheba._

“Not me. I killed her father and I'll kill her if she hurts Lara. Not gonna be stopped by her pretty face.”

_That makes you stronger than she - but you still don't get it. Here's a more complex game. Lilith has been having fun all these centuries during Her lethargy, watching Her two bloodlines of children killing each other. And now She asks the last Nephilim to give Her the life of the last of her other children, still unborn. This is a wicked game with one goal: to ensure Her return._

“We're playthings of the gods.” Kurtis shrugged. “Well, I've always done things my way. Seems a shame to stop now.”

_You may not have to kill her, Kurtis._

“That's up to me.”

_Blood begets blood. I know that was never my philosophy, but I didn't discover it until it was too late. You must stop this cycle of suffering, and prevent Lilith's awakening. She wants to destroy the world in revenge for what they did to Her at the dawn of humanity: confine Her to the abyss by the sake of love.”_

“How am I supposed to do that?”

_Eventually, if the Light comes into you, you'll know. It hasn't been revealed to me._

“I knew it.” Kurtis scoffed, standing up. His ankle was still swollen but at least he could stand on his feet. It took him a moment to realize that the figure of his father was fading away.

_I must leave... I can't stay here any longer..._

“Father!” His son exclaimed.

_Remember what you heard. Believe in yourself, accept what you are - for the answer to everything only can be given by yourself._

Konstantin's figure faded into the air. Kurtis reached for him, but he was disembodied.

_Tell your mother... I'll be waiting for her..._

 

* * *

 

“Well! Something interesting at last!” Lara walked to the edge of the precipice. There was a huge gap between two fractures on the horizon, seeming endless. She couldn't see the bottom, since at a few meters deep a thick fog wrapped everything. The rocky walls were steep, making it easy to climb. “I thought everything was the same damn place.” She said to herself.

Without further ado, and before Bathsheba's curious eyes, the British explorer sat on the edge of the abyss, turned and slowly held on a ledge nearby, trying not to crush her belly against the rocky wall - which would've given her more stability.

“You're a strange woman.” The Nephilim said. “You can slip and kill yourself.”

“I prefer that to die of boredom. Also, there are no demons - and after all, isn't your task to look after me, huh? Then take care of your business.”

Lara continued descending, satisfied with that exercise, which at least entertained her. The air was cool and helped to dry the sweat from her skin, while leaving a dazed feeling. By clinging to a ledge of the wall and scanning the fog, she shuddered: a few inches in front of her Bathsheba's slender figure was floating, suspended in the air like a ghost. Lara grunted and resumed her descending. Luckily that wasn't too stressful for the slight weight she began to feel inside her.

She didn't know how long she took to get to the bottom. She stopped to rest from time to time, until a thick darkness wrapped her and her feet touched ground. She leaned against the wall and sat there, breathing laboriously. Bathsheba touched down gently, but her face turned immediately to a nearby cave. “We're not alone.” The beauty announced.

Lara hadn't heard anything, but it wouldn't have been sensible to discuss the Nephilim's sixth sense, as she wouldn't have discussed Kurtis'. She grabbed her gun and headed over there. Bathsheba didn't move an inch. “Are you frightened?” Lara scoffed.

She shook her head.

Lara was surprised to find a shape huddled on the floor. She was almost naked, with her clothes in tatters and covered in blood and dirt. Her grimy hands pulled at her very short hair in silence. Lara didn't recognize her at first, but then... “Giselle!” She exclaimed, astonished.

The creature looked up and fixed on her an insane glance. Her eyes were still green and luminous, but lit with a spark of madness. She stared at her enemy for a moment. Then she threw her head back and let out a hoarse laugh. She was missing several teeth. “Do you also come to haunt me, bitch?” The Cabal scientist snapped in a voice that seemed not hers. “Come on!” She yelled, throwing a blow at her, a dirty hand with broken nails where more than one finger was missing. “Come here!”

Lara could have killed her or kicked her to the ground - but she was absolutely disgusted. Giselle was insane, or so it seemed. Something or someone had left her in that status, and it had finally come to affect her mind.

“What happened to you?”

The doctor let out another monstrous laugh, crouched and began to rock back and forth, like an ape, while humming under her breath: “They see me, hear me, follow me...they are thousands of hands, don't you know? They come one after another to judge me and touch me, undress me, pull my hair...they pulled out my teeth, cut my fingers...la-la-la-la...” She laughed and swung her head from side to side. Her skin was cold and her lips bluish, her eyes bruised and puffy with dark circles. Her half-naked body was covered with bruises, cuts and burns.

“She's crazy.” Lara said, then turned towards Bathsheba, who looked at the scene, very pale.

“My mother's paying for what she's done.” The Nephilim said. “All the people whom she killed in her experiments and treatments have been coming for revenge. They have done with her what they wanted - now she's alienated. This is her Bitter Path, prepared for her from the beginning. She's the Angel of Death. Now, the dead have come to make her pay.”

Suddenly, Giselle screamed. She stared towards no particular location and spread her arms, starting to jerk spasmodically: “No! Go away! Why have you come back? Leave me alone! You've done enough...let me go... don't hurt me... nooo...” Like a possessed, she writhed on the floor, shook, screamed and convulsed spasmodically, as if someone were kicking her. For no apparent reason, she started to leak blood from the mouth, nose and ears.

Lara approached towards her, but was stopped by Bathsheba: “Don't touch her! That would be worse.”

“What the hell....?”

“Revenge will be relentless. You can't see them, but they're now here. Forget about this, that's her punishment.”

Lara turned away. She knew how much damage that woman had done. She was trying to hate her. That woman had tortured Kurtis without mercy, just for the sake of revenge. She'd killed Vlad and left Selma in a coma. She locked Marcus in a cell for years. She had so much innocent blood noted on her account. Lara tried to hate her with all her might, but she couldn't overcome the feeling of horror, disgust and compassion for a punishment that her mind couldn't understand. She stepped back.

Giselle stretched her arms towards them. “Get them off me! Tell them to go!”

“I'm sorry, Giselle. I told you.” Bathsheba hissed. “Now neither I nor anyone can help you.” She turned and walked away.

Lara followed her, turning her head every few minutes. The screams of the tortured one were running until they became extinct. So that was the Bitter Path. Too much pain.

“Your time will come, too!” Bathsheba murmured, looking askance at Lara, who didn't hear her.

 

* * *

 

Maddalena had nearly died of terror when Kurtis had attempted suicide. She'd pounced on him, she'd cried, she'd beaten, pushed him and tried to snatch that horrible weapon from his fingers- all useless. He couldn't see or hear her. But suddenly, he'd stopped after cutting his neck skin slightly, and had begun to wander and speak alone, like a madman. The redhead girl hadn't seen neither that hubbub of abortions, nor Konstantin. It was evident for her that Kurtis was losing his mind. That hurt as if the damage was addressed to herself.

And it hurt her later even more, when Moloch returned.

 

* * *

 

The Prince of All Incubi appeared shortly after Konstantin's visit. He came surrounded by several incubi, which took shape in the air a few feet from where Kurtis rested. He seemed not to see them.

 _You won't fool me this time_ , smiled the devil. _You'd be able to play dead and let me cut your fingers for when I was distracted in collecting them, you'll skip my neck. Who trained you so well?_

“You.” Kurtis said, without moving a muscle.

Demons released a string of cruel laughter. Maddalena shuddered. She was very close to them. An incubus turned and looked directly at her face. She screamed.

 _The Innocent is there_ , Moloch said, still looking towards Kurtis. _She’s been following you for a while now trying to take care of you. Pathetic. Today we'll have fun as ever._

“Cocky Moloch.” The Lux Veritatis muttered. “Wasting time on me when your real deal is that Nephilim.”

_My real deal are both of you - specially you. I haven't forgotten the times you made me bite the dust._

“You mad?” He jumped. The incubi's wings deployed immediately. “Six to one. Not fair.”

_This is Hell, mortal. Deal with it._

Maddalena screamed again when the five incubi pounced on him. Moloch stood in his spot, smiling, to admire his work. Soon after, Kurtis had managed to kill three of them, although he was bleeding from several new wounds and faced new difficulties for the other two surround him. He took a long time to cast down another one, but at the same time the second hit him in the neck with a backlash. He fell without a cry, suddenly unconscious.

 _Perfect._ At his word, six incubi emerged from nowhere and surrounded her prince. They carried wooden stakes, ropes and nails. Moloch bent and picked up the Chirugai, his blades still open. _You know what to do._

“No!” Maddalena shouted and threw herself over Kurtis' lying body to protect him. The vision of the big rusty nails made her fear the worse, but her reaction amused the hellish creatures, who unleashed their laughter.

_Take her from here. Hold her up ahead, I want her to see everything._

Sharp claws, hard and scaly arms, ripped her from there. She screamed, bit, kicked and spat, but it was useless. It didn't mind how much she struggled, she couldn't escape from the incubus which kept her immobilized and whispered cruelties in her ear. She'd no choice but to watch helplessly as those beings sank four stakes in the ground and tied Kurtis to them, leaving him lying in X position. With a pull of the strings, he was raised a few inches above the ground - even that made not him wake.

Then Moloch told them to bring her. The incubus dragged her there and forced her to kneel before him. _Tell me, you love this man? Even more than your own life?_

Maddalena nodded, trembling. Then she said: “Please, don't hurt him anymore!”

_Would you like to see yourself united to him?_

“Please!”

_The Voice promised you that, right? But...how long these incorporeal beings take to fulfill their promises! Sure you're dying of impatience. We, the incubi, are far more practical. We'll solve the problem in the blink of an eye. I will join you to him at this very moment!_

An incubus took her arm with strength and forced her to put her hand on Kurtis' hand, tied to a stake. Maddalena, unconsciously, gripped that dear hand, laced her fingers with his, gripping tight that feverish and bloody hand.

_Ah, perfect. And now the ultimate union._

Seeing an incubus bringing a nail and a hammer, she started screaming. She squirmed, trying to escape, but Moloch now was holding her arm tightly, keeping her from letting go of Kurtis' hand. The incubus brought the huge and rusty nail tip to the back of Maddalena's delicate hand and then struck the hammer on the nail head.

A stabbing, horrible pain, pierced her all over. She screamed. That hammer struck four more times. The nail went through her hand and Kurtis’, burrowing into the wood of the stake. Blood splattered on both their faces. The Lux Veritatis' body jerked, as if he were awakening to the intense pain.

_Now the other one. Of course, my dear, we won't leave this unfinished._

The incubus' sarcastic laughter echoed in her ears. Then, four other hammer strikes, four lashes of unbearable pain, which made her almost faint. Her two hands nailed to Kurtis' hands, he face up, she near his head.

 _Now you're finally united_ , said Moloch, and a chorus of monstrous laughters accompanied his comment. Maddalena bent and dropped her head on Kurtis' shoulder, covering his face with her hair.

Then he opened his eyes and looked around, confused.

Moloch ordered the other incubi to leave. They vanished without further ado. He checked his work, satisfied, enjoying the pain and confusion of his victims. The blood had soaked the stakes and was dripping on the floor - her blood, merged with his blood.

“What have you done?” Kurtis said, trying to lift his head, turning towards Moloch. “What did you do, motherfucker?” He didn't care about himself - neither the throbbing pain of his pierced hands, nor the insufferable and uncomfortable position. “Leave her alone. This is just you and me.”

_But she wanted to be with you. Don't you see? Ah! Now you can see her, right?_

Maddalena's burning tears fell over Kurtis' face. He looked up and saw her for the first time.

Moloch walked to them, holding the Chirugai in his paw. He leaned close to the Fighter and approached the blades to his face. _Now beg me to have mercy on you._

“You sick fuck. Let her go.”

 _Beg me to release her. Cry a little. I'm tired of your bravery. How can I force you to scream? Ah, yes, I have an idea._ The blade's tips stroked Kurtis' cheek. Maddalena whimpered. _Beg me to have mercy on you, or I'll cut your eyes out with this. Come on. Do it._

“Eat shit.”

_I'll cut first the right one and then the left one. Then I will put them in a box and serve them to that British bitch. Come on. Beg me. I want to hear you loud and clear._

“Why - why are you doing this?” Maddalena cried, horrified.

 _He has humiliated me many times_ , growled the incubus, showing her the empty socket on his face, _last time he cut my eye out. What does your human law say? An eye for an eye..._

The demon didn't finish the sentence. Kurtis took a breath and spat on his very face. That destroyed the remains of Moloch's patience. Without a single word, the incubus grabbed Kurtis' head back and drove the Chirugai's blade in with surgical precision.

“For God's sake!” Maddalena shrieked.

But it was too late.

 

* * *

 

A liquid, bloody fire went across his head. For a moment, he'd the horrible feeling that his skull would burst into a thousand pieces. The viscous, burning blackness filling his vision slowly melted, and through its cracks emerged a splendid ray of light, a bright and magnificent aura that filled him completely. The grief left him in a cry of pain. A pure clarity invaded his body and mind and, little by little, everything started to take shape. The reality rippled and stretched again, clothed in light, a white light with yellowish loopholes, which didn't hurt neither his sight nor his tired soul.

Kurtis didn't realize his tortured body was being released until he felt his back touching the ground. He heard a woman mourning near him. He spread his hands to touch her and felt her small sticky hands, perforated like his own hands.

“I've... freed myself...” He heard the woman sobbing in time intervals. “Please be calm... I'm freeing you... hold on...”

The pain of his hands was throbbing, but he felt his head as if full of cotton. The light danced before his face and noticed, slowly, the luminous, soft figure of the crying woman who was attending him. “Giulia.” He muttered.

“Calm down... don't move ... now, now I'm going to take care of you...”

Maddalena had mourned bitterly in her struggle to free herself once Moloch had left, taking those beautiful blue eyes with him. She wept with anger and bitterness as she pulled out the nails, ripped her blouse into strips to bandage her hands, and proceeded to untie and lay on the ground the man she loved more than life.

“What happened?” Kurtis stammered, trying to lift a hand to touch his face.

Maddalena stopped him. “No, don't touch yourself.” She sobbed. “Kurtis... Moloch... has cut out your eyes... you're blind, Kurtis...”

It couldn't be. It made no sense. He saw light, lots of light. Everything was light, even Maddalena was light. “But I can see... everything's full of light, Giulia...”

She wasn't listening. She could only mourn and try to hold the blood flowing from his empty sockets, his torn eyelids, and whisper: “Easy, easy... I'll wrap this... I'll put a cloth... don't worry, I'm here, I'll guide you, I won't abandon you, I swear, _amore mio...”_

Kurtis raised his hands and touched his face, soaked in blood. Could that have happened? “Giulia, now I get it... it's the Light ... I see the Light!”

She wasn't listening. She tore a strip from her blouse, folded several times and bandaged Kurtis' face, covering his hideous mutilation. Then she hugged him and kissed his bloodied lips repeatedly. He was too shocked to react.

“You're still bleeding.” She lamented. “I don't know what to do...”

Kurtis regained the usual tone of his voice, cold and sure. “I won't stop bleeding. He ripped my eyes off with the Chirugai. The wounds caused by this weapon never heal. I'll always bleed.” He rose, helped by Maddalena. “We must go on. Now... now I know what to do.” He muttered.

“You must rest. You've been tortured... both of us should rest.”

He shook his head vehemently. No. She couldn't understand. He actually could _see_ , he saw the Light, he saw things in the form given by the Light. For the first time, he saw everything clearly. “This is the sacrifice my father foretold me.” He said to Maddalena, who didn't understand. “My eyes, my sight, in exchange for the Light. Now I get it.”

Under the bandage, streams of falling blood continued to run down his cheeks and dripped on his chest. Thick tears of blood.


	48. Doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is an official render from Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness.

The valley at the bottom of the gorge ended in another cave, opposite to the place where they had left the alienated Giselle. Lara lit a flare and plunged into darkness, with her hand near her holster. Bathsheba followed her at a distance. She'd stopped levitating and was now walking, the stones mixed in the soil hurting her white feet, but she didn't seem to care.

Lara enjoyed entering an underground place where anyone else would've turned and ran, so gloomy and suffocating was the atmosphere of that rocky gallery descending into the bowels of the earth. She, after all, was used to that. It was that flat, empty expanse in which they had traveled until then that made her nervous, not knowing how to orientate herself or knowing if she was going somewhere. At least there was only one possible way.

Behind her, she noticed Bathsheba's heavy breathing. Since she couldn't see her, Lara flashed a wide grin of sarcasm. That creature didn't resemble her father. The idea of imagining Karel nervous or anxious about something was kinda hilarious. But more than that, it was laughable to think the Nephilim knew what was about to happen and instead of warning her she was merely tormenting herself and trembling. Pathetic.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.” Bathsheba replied to her thoughts, wearily. “And my father was a pure Nephilim, not a half-human like me. He couldn't have feelings.”

“Excuse me, divine one.” Lara laughed, scanning the dark. “I never gave you permission to read my thoughts.”

“Involuntary. Besides, arrogant people like you scream when thinking - all of Vortex's demons are hearing you right now.”

“Great.”

The tunnel was descending. Lara touched the rock to guide herself. At other times she wouldn't have slowed down, but that new strange incipient weight she felt in her belly made her be instinctively cautious. Moreover, there was that incontrollable influx of hormones that kept her in a dazed, almost lethargic state, which made her feel so relaxed, so calm, as if she wasn't fooling around in the very hell, not knowing where to go and with an ominous prophetess of doom attached to her heels whose mission was to watch her slaughtering - not to mention she was ignorant of whether Kurtis was dead or alive or what could have happened to him...

 _Stop it, you silly. You've always known how to take care of yourself and this time nothing should be different_ , the British explorer inwardly reproached herself. _It's just another damn den with another unlikelihood of surviving. You've been through this a thousand times. If you mess up this, you die, but before that happens, try your best._

“What happened with the Scepter?” Lara asked suddenly while looking ahead. “All this mess was because of the damn thing - shame if you lost it after all.”

“Safe.” Bathsheba said. “Along with the Periapt and the Shards – until their time comes.”

The carelessness with which the Nephilim answered made it easy to pry for information. Of course it really did not matter, since she won't be able to change the course of events. If there was something that annoyed Lara more than anything else in the world, it was not being in control of the situation.

“Wait.” The British explorer suddenly exclaimed, stopping short. She reached forward, to the front, and made a sweep with the flashlight. “Who's there?” She hadn't noticed the slightest change, but now she was certain someone was there. Bathsheba looked sideways without losing her central field of sight, and saw the Nephilim puzzled frown, as if this was unexpected, even for her.

 _Moloch, Lord of the Incubi and Prince of Demons_ , said a nightmare voice from the dark. Lara tensed her muscles. _I come to bring you a valuable gift from your love._

 

* * *

 

_Day 30 in the Vortex._

_Maybe I should call this a new stage in the rocky valley, as the empty desert was left behind us. There's no doubt that the evil beings who rule this horrible dimension have wanted that._

_I fear for Lara's life. She's very unprotected, but she thinks not. She has full confidence in her skills, but that won't be enough this time. I fear what may happen, and that's going to lead to disaster._

_Bathsheba... what are you doing? React! You still have time... you must change, you must rebel... it's impossible you could end up obeying Her. You couldn’t have believed Her flattering promises. You'll destroy innocent people, everything just to go to languish in the same darkness with Her._

_You'll taint your hands with blood, you who are pure and innocent..._

 

* * *

 

“Careful. Giselle Boaz's up ahead, and she's totally deranged.”

Maddalena blinked and looked surprised at Kurtis. His face remained impassive and expressionless, at least what could be seen behind the thick cloth that covered his mutilated eye sockets and the trickles of blood running down across his cheeks. She still couldn't get used to the fact that Kurtis seemed to be able to see, even better than before losing his eyes. She couldn't explain this, but it seemed to be so. However, she still refused to accept it and kept trying to guide him. She took his arm and peered into the dark rock in the valley, but saw nothing.

“Lara's near.” Kurtis noted. “Let's move on. Stay behind me.”

Lara, Lara, Lara... always Lara. Had Lara been there when he was tortured and maimed? Had Lara healed his wounds, changed his blindfold by tearing her own clothes? Had Lara's hands been pierced with nails? The pain in her wounded hands worsened when feeling the rage that filled her inside.

Kurtis' hand placed on her shoulder and squeezed her hard. “Reserve this rage to survive, Giulia.”

She'd the grace to blush. “Can you hear what I'm thinking?”

“Now, yes.”

Soon she began to distinguish something up ahead. A figure was huddled against the high rock wall, crouching and withdrawn on itself. A half-naked and bloodied figure trembling like a silk hair exposed to a biting wind. She instinctively ran to help her, but Kurtis' arm shot out like a spring and grabbed her so hard that it stopped her short. “Don't even think in doing that.”

“She's badly injured!”

“You don't know how she will react. Now she's more dangerous than ever before.”

They felt a start, for then Giselle jumped. She wore only four to five strips of fabric hanging from her tortured body, but she neither seem to notice nor was she ashamed. She peered at them, a gaze still clear and bright in a face swollen and full of cuts. She could be insane, but she perfectly distinguished her hated enemy. The Cabal scientist shrieked with a whistle that sounded hollow, snubbed between her broken teeth and leaped forward brandishing her nails. Maddalena screamed and instinctively tended to cover Kurtis, but Giselle didn't get far. Almost instantly an invisible force stopped her and threw her back, pressing her against the wall.

“Enough!” Maddalena shouted, however.

“Why?” Kurtis said coldly. “She wasn't exactly _nice_ to me.”

“But...”

“Relax, I was just defending us.”

Giselle sprawled on the floor for a moment - which they used to pass cautiously at her side, without turning away from her. With a start, she sat back and reached out, catching the redhead's ankle, who shrieked and rushed to get free – but the Cabal scientist didn't seem to want to fight, because her arm dropped limply. From her lips came a crusty groan: “You son of a bitch...”

Kurtis turned to face her, who began to crawl, fixing her hateful gaze on him. He realized with surprise he felt kind of sorry for her, after all he'd suffered in her hands. Even in that moment he didn't feel like killing her - or doing anything for revenge.

Giselle retreated prancing like a snake and fell to her knees, staring at her enemy. Then she hissed: “They almost got me, those bastards... but ah! They couldn't kill me... I'm stronger... they said it was their right... I killed them... you also came to charge your debt?”

Kurtis shook his head. “You're done. The Light around you is black.” He turned around. “You just need to drag yourself to a corner and die.”

The woman let out a menacing hiss. Foam appeared at the corner of her mouth. Maddalena came forward, frightened. “She's insane! Let's go!”

“Why did they come to me and not to you, huh?” Giselle howled. “They came to me, to destroy me... and you, you who are a murderer and a rapist... where are your dead? Did they rip your eyes off?”

“A murderer, yes.” Kurtis said. “A rapist, _never.”_

“Let's go!” Maddalena yelled, grabbing his arm.

“What's your punishment then? Which one? Which one?” The Cabal scientist was screaming her lungs out. “You may not stay unpunished! You killed an angel, you wicked! You killed a divine being...”

Kurtis turned and made his way into the cave, with Maddalena still pinned at his arm. For a moment, Giselle's expletives followed them. Then a constant scraping noise against the floor notified them that, though dragging behind badly, she was following them.

 

* * *

 

When Moloch came out of the darkness, Lara gasped and her eyes widened. Neither the most fevered imagination of any great painter could have generated a creature like the Prince of Incubi horror - that sort of animal-headed, reptilian man. His smile was frightening and one of his eyes was missing made him even more sinister, recently emptied according to the still gelatinous pulp poured through his scaly cheek.

 _Do I frighten you, darling?_ The demon said hoarsely, satisfied to capture Lara's horrified gaze. _Maybe another look you're more used to?_ Suddenly the winged figure blurred and took Kurtis' shape, naked and with a lewd smile, his eyes covered with a bluish, malignant glow. _Better like this, huh?_ He reached out and maliciously touched Lara's arm, who gasped again and stepped back. _You refuse me? You didn't when you had him at night in your bed._

“This is grotesque, Moloch.” Bathsheba sentenced, taking a step forward. “This comedy is useless.”

The incubus smiled contemptuously. _Oh, but if it's my new rival! Pathetically wrapped behind human flesh. The virgin who talks beautifully with her mouth but whose eyes claim her dirtiness._ He turned towards Lara and said: _Did you know how many nights she spied on you and your Lux Veritatis while doing dirty stuff together?_

A deep flush rose to the Nephilim's pristine cheeks, who hissed under her breath: “Your days of glory are coming to an end, Moloch.”

 _Oh_ , said the incubus, as if that couldn't affect him, and took two steps towards her. _You're a beautiful and unsatisfied creature. I can give you what you need, my dear._ He swatted at Bathsheba, trying to grab her, but with a single jump she put herself out of reach, raised an arm and stretched two fingers, which caught fire with blue and cold flames. “Touch me,” she sentenced, threatening, “and I'll burn you alive.”

Apparently the threat was serious for with a sly smile, Moloch went back. Somehow a creature like him had something to fear from Bathsheba, Lara scored mentally - something worth remembering.

 _I can always amuse myself with this human bitch_ , the incubus was telling. _I've been told you're proud, Lara Croft, but to what point? Would you fuck me?_

Lara had the feeling everything was a game arranged by that nasty, horrible monster who was using Kurtis' shape, but for what purpose? “I'd rather have a sewer rat than you.” She answered sharply, and when he approached her, she raised her gun and targeted him. “Hold it right there, or I'll break your mouth with one shot.”

The false Kurtis greatly opened his eyes with a feigned glance of innocence _. Would you shoot me, your love?_

“You're not him. You're not even half the man he is.”

She shouldn’t have said that. That touched a nerve, if that monster had any. His face contorted in a cruel, hideous expression, not fitting with Kurtis' face, and hissed: _Of course I'm not him. I still have one eye left._ The way he said this made an unpleasant shiver go up and down Lara's spine and a nasty pressure close the pit of her stomach. However, with no hesitation, she continued holding the gun with a firm hand and staring through her opponent.

 _Ah, such a proud girl_ , smiled the incubus. _What an immense pleasure it will be to break you. But I won't distract from the main purpose of my visit. I've to bring you this._ And he held out a small red box brought from she didn't know where. Lara took it, while another terrible, distant picture, came up in her mind - a cardboard box with Radha's severed fingers.

Now she couldn't help but to put away the gun to open the box with trembling hands, for she knew her fears would be confirmed.

“Don't.” Bathsheba then said. “Don't play his game.”

But it was too late. At seeing the contents of the box - a pair of torn, bloody eyes, the same blue eyes she'd fallen in love with so long ago - Lara felt a lump in her throat and a terrible burning in her own eyes. Trying to control herself, even though she was trembling like a leaf, the British explorer clenched her jaws to snap up the sob that struggled to sprout from her chest. Over all, she must _not_ drop the box.

 _See how she struggles to keep her dignity_ , Moloch sighed in mocking sorrow. _Humans are so weak, even those proud and strong as this woman. C'mon honey, you can mourn a little, we won't tell anyone, will you, Blessed Daughter?_ The Nephilim's title sounded mocking and sarcastic. _Ah, how funny. He started, you know? That Lux Veritatis had humiliated me before, and I swore I'd charge him with humiliation. He stared at me so condescending, so I cut out his eyes. Ugh, so pleasant! And with his own weapon, so that pig won't stop bleeding. He's lucky with that female human at his side to guide him, otherwise he'd be stumbling against everywhere! But... what are you doing?_

While struggling to ignore Moloch's hurtful speech, Lara had taken one of the bloodshot eyes with her thumb and forefinger. Suddenly, before their astonished gaze, she put it in her mouth and swallowed it, and also did the same with the other one.

Bathsheba turned around in disgust, while shaking with nausea.

 _Yuck_ , Moloch laughed. _Seems true that you'd fuck a rat...nasty ..._

“His eyes,” Lara said hoarsely in pain, “are the purest thing right here and right now.” She struggled to hold back her tears before their enemies, but it was a losing battle - she noticed them, burning, sliding down her cheeks, as she took her hand back to the gun. Bathsheba looked at her, speechless, fascinated by the intensity of feelings that she couldn't - she'd _never_ \- feel.

 _You know_ , Moloch said, gesturing towards Bathsheba, _she knew it at the very moment I ripped his eyes off, and didn't say anything on purpose. Moreover, when she knew, she laughed well at ease._

“I didn't laugh!” Bathsheba spat bitterly. “I didn't laugh!”

But Lara wasn't listening - she held the gun and with a mechanical gesture fired two shots, hitting one in Moloch's forehead and another one in Bathsheba's. Then she turned and went down the tunnel, her eyes smudged with grief. She heard a moan of pain and a cry of astonishment mixed with anger, which she couldn't identify because her ears rang.

 _You're not going to kill us that way, darling_ , the incubus' voice hissed very close, too close to her. _Your ridiculous bullets only tickle us_.

Lara turned quickly, but it was too late. Moloch's blow hit her face and threw her to the ground. The gun flew from her hand, but just as quickly she pulled out the long knife strapped to her thigh. The incubus pounced on her – he'd recovered his original form - and brought his ghastly smile to her face, but suddenly he let out a roar of pain. Lara had plunged the knife into his left wing and tore the skin to reach the slim joints and break them with a flick of the wrist. That caused unbearable pain to Moloch, and the slumbering serpent coiled around his body seemed to feel it, for it suddenly opened its red eyes and shot its head towards Lara, sinking its fangs into her neck. That huge snake had an incredible strength, for with a twist struck Lara, forcing her to drop the knife, and pushed her aside by rolling.

Moloch rose furious with outstretched wings and pulled out the knife in rage, while the snake coiled back and closed its eyes. To Lara's desperation, who trusted to have weakened him, the wound slowly closed, leaving the wing intact. Then she remembered there were only two weapons to harm permanently a demon: the Periapt Shards, and Kurtis' Chirugai.

 _Bitch_ , smiled the incubus. _I'll make you swallow that pride_.

The British explorer jumped up and brandished the knife. Moloch laughed. He liked human daring. It always reported more fun - and even more if it was a woman. And if that was the Lux Veritatis' whore, it was just perfect. He actually was only following strict orders from higher authority, but nothing forbade him from playing with his victim before. And because the demons of his kind were engaged to take human shape to seduce or rape human women, as the succubi did with men, the idea of a proud, haughty and defiant female human made him burn with lust. It'd be an absolute pleasure to break and humiliate her.

The incubus pounced on her again, roaring. Lara feinted to the side and swung the blade, the first blow hitting some demon arm scales. She wasn't scared at all - she'd be horrified at first, but now only felt an unspeakable disgust. She thought of Kurtis' mutilated eyes, which she'd eaten to spare them sullying and decaying - and rage granted her all the strength she needed. The second thrust, rather successful, sliced at once the snake's head. Moloch stopped when noticing the serpent shaking around him, whose beheaded body fell from his body and after a few crackles, laid still on the ground. _Freya!_ Moloch roared, furious. _You killed my Freya!_

Lara smirked and put her fingers on her neck bite, from which flowed a stream of tiny blood soaking her clothes. Fortunately, it wasn't a poisonous species... if it was a natural species at all.

Moloch furiously swept the floor, flapping his wings, and propelled against Lara. The tackle smashed her against the wall, leaving her stunned a few seconds, which Moloch took to grab her arm and keep her still, pressing her shoulder against the opposite wall. The demon brought her face so close to her that she could feel his fetid breath, and suddenly his hot and sticky tongue licked her face widely from the neck, through her cheek and to her temple. Lara turned her face, holding back a retch.

_What? Do I bother you, darling?_

Above the membranous wings of her captor, Lara saw Bathsheba, not involved at any time to defend her, but watching instead the scene with a mixture of horror and compassion. The British explorer wondered if not moving a finger to help her was part of the plan, but no matter what happened, she was determined to not plead for help - and least of all to her.

Moloch snuggled closer to her, and licked her face again. Lara felt something hard against her thigh, and realized, dazed, it was a phallus of a disproportionate size and covered in sharp scales. She tried to struggle but the incubus' strength was brutal.

 _Let's see, you're very strong, very proud. Very brave. How much are you able to endure without screaming in pain?_ As soon as he said this the paw that gripped her right arm, the one holding the knife, began to rotate slowly, forcing her arm to bend over. The forearm turned until stopping at the elbow joint, but he kept turning it. Lara let out a gasp of pain and her fingers, trembling and powerless, dropped the knife, which fell to the floor with a clink.

 _Tic-toc-tic-toc_ , Moloch hissed in her ear. _You need to scream a little, darling, just a little. Beg me. Come on, you can't take this. You don’t want your arm broken, do you?_

The pain was horrible, unbearable. Lara turned her face and clenched her teeth - a feeling of horror and helplessness assaulted her and silently screamed Kurtis' name, wishing he was there. Her joint reached the limit and a lash of pain ran through her again.

_You scream and I let you go. Word of Moloch, Lord of the Incubi. Come on, darling, let's hear you..._

More pressure. And more. And more. Lara closed her eyes tightly and tried to escape to that, trying not to think about that, but she couldn't - the pain had become the center of her being. She stifled a sob, held until the last moment - then Moloch, with a cruel smile, made a final sharp twist. Her left arm broke cleanly above the elbow.

Then Lara screamed as if that cry didn't come out of the depths of her being - she thought it was someone else's shrieking in such horrible way.

 _Tsk, tsk, tsk... too late._ Moloch said. _You humans are so fragile._ With one tug he cast her down.

Lara fell on her broken arm. She screamed again. The pain was insane, it wouldn't let her think. She thought she saw her arm in a horrible position, her elbow bent inward instead of outward as usual, but her vision was blurred. She inhaled air and fell back on the floor, panting.

He gave her no rest. She noticed a claw gripping her by the hair, forcing her to raise her head. The devil twisted and pulled Lara's braid viciously, forcing her to look at him. _Do you realize I'm serious, finally? Now let's see how it goes now with your beautiful hair... you don’t want to be scalped, right? Would your pride go that far again?_

Another pull made her eyes fill with tears. Besides she could glimpse Bathsheba's figure, saying: “Enough, Moloch! This is not necessary!”

_How, do you pity this bitch? Explain yourself._

Trying to ignore the pain, Lara fumbled with her good arm the left holster. Luckily, about handling weapons, she was ambidextrous.

“She's to come alive to the Mother's Throne. That's the command, you know.”

_Meh, this won't kill her! I deserve some fun!_

“You want the gift having such an unfortunate look when we deliver it to Her? Is that your way to worship the Goddess?

 _Moloch only worships Moloch!_ The monster hissed.

“Blasphemer.”

_You, princess, you're not even a shadow of your father - that one was a demon to be proud of!_

Lara breathed heavily and counted to three. Then she moved with surprising speed, her strength born of desperation. With one tug, she released herself from Moloch's paw, although so much of her hair was pulled, resting between the devil's nails. She turned the gun and fired a rifle butt with all her might against the incubus' mouth. She didn't stop to look at how this shredded his teeth - she turned quickly and hit Bathsheba with a violent elbow hit of her good arm, then she went down towards the tunnel, running with all her soul, trying to overcome the excruciating pain of the broken arm she held against her chest. She ran until plunging into total darkness.

 

* * *

 

Lara paused, her heart pounding, and her hearing acute. She couldn't hear anything – it looked like she'd not been followed, but she didn't want to fool herself with that thought.

Suddenly, a violent stab of pain in her belly made her bend. She leaned against the wall, panting, and waited for it to disappear. She wanted to move on, but instead her legs failed and she collapsed on the floor.

That had been a contraction. She closed her eyes, exhausted, and curled up, hugging her good arm, whispering: “Not now, please, hold on, we can make it...” For the first time she spoke to the child she was carrying in her womb - Kurtis' son, her own son. He'd survived until then, but he'd die right now - for if contractions went on, she'd have a miscarriage and bleed to death.

Maybe it'd be the best, provided the situation.

Lara buried her face in her good arm, trembling. She hated that feeling of helplessness and weakness as she'd never experienced before. She was more than afraid - totally terrified. She didn't know where she was, she had no goal, at the mercy of violent and heinous beings, against whom her usual skills - cleverness, physical strength and firearms were completely useless. She was helpless, absolutely helpless.

Then she felt another contraction.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Lara began to mourn.

 

* * *

 

_Day 30 in the Vortex. Part two._

_Lara's doomed._

His hand shook when writing it - then he dropped the pen and hid his face in his hands. “Oh Blessed Light,” Marcus the Wise sobbed, “help us...”

 

* * *

 

She heard them gathering around her, but she didn't move. Her whole goal was focused on herself, on her inside, on keeping that child her battered body could no longer keep. So when Lara looked up at her executioners, she did it with a cold, emotionless glance. Her tears had already dried.

Moloch's evil smile, now with a pair of fangs and many other broken detached, greeted her at first. But after him there were several _incubi_ , and around them some others as much, maybe twenty. Bathsheba wasn't seen anywhere.

 _Look at that face_ , Moloch said. _Not that she looks quite broken, right?_

 _I'd say she remains just as stubborn as before. We'll have to punish her_ , added another incubus malevolently.

“What for?” Lara said, out loud and inexpressive.

Moloch smiled again. _This is Hell, darling, what did you expect? You've come to learn the highest of lessons. Here you atone for your sins bitterly - and we're your disciplinary staff. Also, I'll love to make you bite the dust for that will make that Lux Veritatis suffer the most, that son of a bitch, even more than ripping his eyes off._

“Cowards.” Lara muttered. “Come here and get me, then!”

There was a hideous, multiple laughter which pierced her ears.

 _We sent a Golem after you_ , revealed one of the _incubi, a Golem made with a recent corpse and the spirit of the human named Giacomo Sciarra, which easily accepted the deal. You beat him back then - but, can you beat all of us now?_

Lara clenched her teeth. If she was going to die, it wouldn't be without fighting - and if those nasty beings tried to rape her, she'd try everything against. So when they approached her, she lit a flare with her good arm and threw it against the first incubus. Fortunately, that horrible being's oily skin burned immediately with the contact. The incubus howled and flapped its wings, spreading the fire to his companion. In the confusion, Lara took the chance to slip away, throwing a pair of flares over against those who tried to stop her. Soon, the _incubi_ were a mass of moving torches. She already believed to have escaped when a paw grabbed her ankle and pulled her.

The fall was painful. Her mouth crashed into the rocky ground and split her lip. She coughed blood and spat on the ground a couple of teeth, but she was about to get up again when a powerful paw grabbed her head, lifted it into the air, then slammed it back into the ground. The shock was terrible - she felt her nose's fragile bridge breaking with the impact, and then the world around her faded away.

Last thing she noticed, before passing out, was something gripping her ankle and dragging her across the floor, like a dead lamb.

Lara's last thought was a desperate lament addressed to Kurtis.

 

* * *

 

 _May the Light have mercy on her_ , Marcus wrote. Then he picked up the book and started the slow descent toward the Mother's Throne.


	49. Sacrifice

“Dammit!” Furious, Kurtis slammed his fist against the hard rock. He only managed to  skin his knuckles. Then he turned, helpless and put his hands to his aching head.

Maddalena looked with horror at the footprints left on the ground. Blood drops scattered here and there; Lara's guns and a long knife abandoned, and worse - a mop of brown hair with bits of skin stuck to it. Kurtis took that lock of hair, which he recognized by touching and smelling it. “This is Moloch's work.” He sentenced. “I should've killed him when I had the chance.” His voice was full of rage. He turned back to the wall, where the tunnel ended, and struck it again.

“Enough!” Maddalena shouted. “You're hurting yourself!”

Blood ran down Kurtis' arm, but he didn't care. “This wall wasn't here before.” He muttered. “They've put it there to prevent me from passing. So I can't reach her.”

What outraged him was that Lara was in evident danger. He'd heard her screaming, calling him with total clarity. She'd been silenced and now he couldn't hear her anymore, but he still could perceive her nearby. He struggled to control himself. He couldn't pierce the rock with his fist.

“We gotta find another way.” The Lux Veritatis determined, and retreated to the tunnel's exit. There was Giselle still constantly reaching, crawling, but he barely looked at her. He sat on the floor, crossed his legs and breathed deeply.

The redhead knelt beside him. “What are you doing?” She asked softly.

“Once, long ago,” he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible, “I lost Lara. She was kidnapped by the Cabal mercs and taken to Munich, where they wanted her to breed a new hybrid species with a Nephilim.”

 _“Dio mio!”_ Maddalena mumbled.

“I found her by using this. Hope it won't fail me now.” He dropped his head on his chest. “This' supposed to have improved...”

It had improved - and so much. The Light gathered around him as soon as he summoned the Gift. He saw it as something material, dancing around, spinning ever faster, and suddenly he found himself out of his body, becoming another particle of Light. That process didn't hurt him, didn't make him feel heavy nor exhausted as previously. He invoked Lara's name and face and drifted. He crossed rock, fire and flesh, to reach her.

She was unconscious because of a brutal blow to the face, which had broken her nose and mouth. One of the _incubi_ dragged her mercilessly by the leg, so her clothes and skin were being torn and peeled off as a result of friction against the rocky ground. The other _incubi_ rushed through the tunnel, led by Moloch, who made them hurry with dry orders. The brutality of those beings, even though Kurtis already knew, shocked him - and the fury when seeing they were doing that _to Lara_ , not able to fight back anymore.

 _She's doomed_.

The voice saying that, sweet and sad, disturbed him to the point of losing his vision. The _incubi_ and their battered victim disappeared from his sight, and the Light redirected again toward a tall, slender and delicate figure in front of him. There was something familiar in her, even though he couldn't have seen her ever in life. A tall, white woman, with long blond hair and a delicate expression on her face.

 _My benefactor._ She wore a long white dress. She smiled sweetly at him. _Do you remember me? We met through time and space. You helped me to execute my revenge. With the death of the last Nephilim, my shame was atoned. I am Loanna Von Skopf_.

Yes, of course he'd recognized her. Kurtis wanted to say something but couldn't speak, being at that time just a spark of the huge assembly of Light. Loanna smiled with beatific peace and then argued sadly: _I'd like to help you, but I'm not allowed to intervene. Nobody will prevent me, however, from speaking to you. I want to say that Lara is already doomed, and you must not blame yourself for that. She followed you willingly, or rather because it was willing to happen that way. There are very powerful hands that are pulling the strings of your destiny, and you are no longer master of your own actions. Powerful and evil hands, not human - and therefore beyond your feelings. Every step you give is predicted, in fact, as has always been. You can't prevent Lara's death, and you'd better resign yourself to it, or you'll doom yourself too, my benefactor_.

Somewhere, the young Fighter heard a faint moan. Lara was waking. There were a couple of violent blows, and he heard her screaming.

Loanna approached. She was beautiful, free of sorrows and miseries that have afflicted her in life. _Don't listen to that! You'll only be hurt. I'm not an evil spirit that seeks for you to forget your goal. You avenged me and now I'll return the favor. Don't let what you feel for her stand between you and your goal. You sacrificed your human eyes to behold the Light as no mortal has witnessed it before, and this has given you a power you're still unable to appreciate. You're now as powerful as them. You can destroy them. But if you just abandon yourself to the pain and despair caused by the torture and death of your partner, everything will be in vain - for you will die also._

She was asking too much for him. Dying was easier than that.

Loanna heard his thought, and smiled again. _Moloch still doesn't know what he did when he mutilated you. Now you can crush him, and so the hybrid Nephilim, if you want. They're no rival for you. Oh, they've no idea in what position are you now! And you know what to do. Do it, and forget Lara and your child... they're lost. Don't let their death get you down, to destroy your strength. Instead, use that anger as a weapon against your enemies. Defeat them now and get this ancient war that has been without end over with_.

And what if he was defeated? If he died too?

Loanna shook her beautiful head, shaking her blond hair. She spread his fingers and touched him gently, at some indeterminate point in his ethereal and luminous form.

_Don't fear death. Whatever it is, it will take you with Lara._

 

* * *

 

A snap awoke her. Lara opened her eyes and at first she couldn't see anything, but suddenly, a blurred, immense form took shape in front of her - or rather over her, for she was lying on her back on a hard and high surface, and what she had just saw was a huge statue reaching the very distant ceiling of that place. Gradually the lights and shadows receded and she could focus on that.

Her blood froze in her veins when recognizing it. She'd never seen that before, but Kurtis did long ago, after the ectoplasm attack in that Syrian hotel - and now she recognized that for his description.

A huge throne, with a naked woman sitting on it. A stone statue whose majesty rivaled with that of the idols she'd come to see during her explorations. The statue wore a silver mask attached with the beautiful, expressionless face of a Greek goddess. The sculpture must have measured yards and meters, and weighed thousands of tons. A delicate, beautiful yet terrifying presence, which lacked only breath and movement.

“She'll do it soon.” A voice said at her side.

Lara turned her face. At the foot of Lilith's huge statue  - for now she was aware this was Lilith - Bathsheba was standing still and radiant, holding in one hand a bowl in which an elongated blue flame was burning. In the other hand she held the Scepter. The British explorer quickly noticed she'd the three Periapt Shards in her belt, tight around the tattered remnants of her robe, and at her feet was the Periapt. The Nephilim was completely motionless, almost seeming a statue.

The sharp pain of Lara's broken arm took her out of her thoughts. Twisting to look across almost made her pass out. She felt a dull pain in the face, her nostrils blocked, forcing her to breath through her mouth - and every breath was painful.

On the other side there were Moloch and his _incubi_. They seemed to be waiting for something or someone, and the Prince more than eager.

Lara tried to move again, but then she noticed her shackled hands and feet - shackled to what seemed... a kind of altar. “No!” She shouted. She tried to sit up, but the painful whip of the broken bone laid her back. “Not this way! Give me a weapon and I'll fight!”

“You've no choice.” A sore and tired voice sentenced.

Lara turned her head sharply. A few steps away from the altar, looking towards the Goddess, the Wise was sitting on a rock. With an unhappy expression on his face, he held the _O Onírikos Daimonion_ open on his knees, while the hand held the writing instrument. At each side he'd a manticore with the poisonous appendix pointing directly to his neck.

“Marcus!” Lara shouted.

 _If the old man tries to make the slightest movement, he's dead_. Moloch sentenced, satisfied. _As if a bag of bones like him could do something._ Among the incubi's cruel laughter, their leader approached Lara, grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head to bring her ear to his fangs. _He's about to write your ending, darling_. He hissed. _We'll inspire in him something well tragic and impressive, don't you think?_

Marcus turned his head, trying to hide his grief.

Lara briefly stared at her executioner. Then she licked her bloody lips and spat in his very face.

The demon released her head sharply, which struck the stone. _I'm tired of her arrogance._ The incubus muttered, turning towards Bathsheba. _I'll punish her now, whether you like it or not._

The Nephilim looked up, devastated. She found Lara's censorious eyes, who even then didn't asked for help. Bathsheba said: “I didn't want to make you suffer, but he's the executioner hand and wants to do it his way.”

“Go to hell!”

 _We're already here_ , the beauty whispered quietly in response.

 

* * *

 

When Kurtis went back to his body, he was in Maddalena's arms. She wasn't looking at him but frowning, scrutinizing an unspecified location in front of them. Noticing his movement, she muttered under her breath: “That demon Giselle...has tried to approach when you were helpless, but I've driven her away.”

“Let's move.” He said, getting up.

Still in front of him was the ethereal, luminous figure of Loanna, waiting patiently with her delicate hands clasped to her chest. Both the white dress she wore and the long blond hair were sparkling. Kurtis thought she looked like one of those elven maidens in northern tales. _She can't see me_ , said the lady, pointing Maddalena with her eyes, _but it's better this way._ _She already has enough on her own. Follow me, I'll guide you to the Mother's Throne. She's ready to wake up._

“What do we do with her?” Maddalena said, referring to Giselle, whose _rac-rac_ when dragging her body across the floor was heard next there.

“Guess we'll have to let her be.”

 _Wise answer_ , Loanna smiled, as she turned and walked into the valley, _even now, Giselle has a role to fulfil, for better or for worse._

 

* * *

 

At first, Lara struggled, despite the exhaustion and pain. But she was human and her strength reached a limit - and beyond that she was helpless. She experienced the bitterness of defeat and humiliation as never before, wondering how those beings could hate to such a point. She was surprised to find out that, after all, those demons were no different from humans. They assaulted and tortured just like the cruellest of human beings. It was disappointing and comforting at the same time - they couldn't do more than that. And while the humiliation was worse than the physical pain, she fought back as she'd if her executioner was human – with dignity, resignation and as much indifference as she'd have in such terrible situation. Being no more than a helpless lump, like a straw man, not giving them the pleasure of hearing her moans. Swallowing tears, biting her own tongue. No more pride, just her despise.

A claw sunk in Lara's jaw and violently lifted her head, forcing her to look at that nightmare face. Thousands of lights danced before her eyes, as a result of the stunning pain, but she distinguished perfectly the features of her tormentor: Y _ou see, smug mortal? You're no different from any other scum. You'd thought you were special, right? You'd thought you were strong. But now you're like everyone else. You're now the most miserable. What did I say! You envy the most miserable now, right? For that miserable one is going to live, and you won't._ Moloch released her and she hit her head against the stone. The blow stunned her completely. Nevertheless, she still heard that voice, like a buzzing, swarming painfully in her ears, now saying...

_“...or anything at all that you've taken all these years. You think you can just go anywhere and say 'this is mine'? You think you can take what you please just because you've found it?” He laughed. “No, Lara Croft. Maybe you've done that so far...but this time it's over. This time I'll be the one to take you...my Amazon.”_

Why was that voice, those words, so familiar to her? She'd already heard that before. Yes, a long time ago...

The nebula over her eyes cleared and saw a tilted, harmonious face, with regular features, a pale, blond man with cold blue eyes. Lara knew him, of course.

“Karel.” She gasped through her swollen lips.

He smiled cruelly. _I'm here to witness your ending. I offered you the world, but you rejected and challenged me. You could have had it all, and now look what you've become. That's what your pride has done to you, Amazon, by challenging our High Breed._

Lara closed her eyes. “You're not real - just a trick of Moloch. You're dead.”

_And so you'll be, darling, very soon..._

The British explorer shook her head. She couldn't imagine a single fiber of her body that wasn't hurting, that wasn't driving her crazy. The feeling of those claws manipulating, sullying, destroying her body was worse than any other pain in the world. “Enough. I give up. Kill me at once.”

_You give up?_

“This... bloody pride's useless. Kill me. End this.”

_Your lover's coming. Don't you want to see him? To relieve your pain before dying?_

She squeezed her eyes tightly and turned her face. “You won't use me as bait to catch him. That's it. You win. Kill me now! Kill me!” Her voice rose to a scream, even though she hardly had the strength to scream. She contorted in a horrible way and shouted again: “Kill me!”

_Lara!_

She opened her eyes. Two figures were leaning over her. What was it, another trick? Another mental torture, added to the physical one?

_Lara... do you know us? Do you know who we are?_

She recognized their faces, but she seemed to have known them centuries ago. One was an old man dressed in white, with pint glasses and an intellectual look. The other was a black woman, dressed colorfully and adorned with beads.

“Werner,” the British explorer murmured, smiling, and then said to the other, “Putai, is this an illusion?”

 _Child, don't give up now_ , Von Croy said, grabbing her arm. His touch was surprisingly real, even though she knew he was dead, _don't give up, you're close to victory!_

 _What victory?_ Lara said, and laughed bitterly, _you were right, Werner... this pride..._

_It's me who made you like this, child. I'm sorry._

_My sister_ , Putai exclaimed, bending over her, _you must endure. You're the Amazon and you must fulfil your mission, as you did once before._

“I can't... you too were right, Putai... I can't resist this... I'd rather die...”

 _Lara, call them now!_ The Bedouin woman shouted. _Only you can!_

 _Hold on, my child, it's almost over_ , Werner said, and let her go.

“Calling them...”

The figures of her beloved ones vanished. Lara went back to reality and pain. Through the haze that dulled her mind, she clearly heard Bathsheba saying: “It's about time.”

 

* * *

 

Marcus watched, mesmerized, how the valuable Sibilla's book slipped from his knees and fell to the ground. It didn't matter anymore - the horror of what he'd just witnessed exceeded everything else. One after another, or several at once, those abominations had brutalized Lara several times, as many as they wanted. The old Healer had lost count. Perhaps she'd have endured torture, but not abuse. It was shameful, absolutely shameful - the height of sadism and abomination. And Bathseba had witnessed that too - while doing _nothing_ to stop it.

And now the beautiful Nephilim, wielding a Periapt Shard in hand, without her arm trembling the slightest, had opened Lara's belly while still alive, while still screaming and asking to be killed, and had ripped out...

Marcus stood up, trembling, ignoring the manticores that bristled their stingers to see him move. He held out his arm and shrieked: “I curse you, Bathsheba!”

The beauty turned slowly. She was soaked in blood - her arms, chest and belly. Lara's blood. In her hands she held a small, gelatinous bundle, which filled him with horror and revulsion. “Curse you!” The old Lux Veritatis screamed again, outraged. “Cursed be the father who bred you and the mother who gave birth to you! Cursed be your indifference and your coldness! Cursed your cruelty and your black heart! Curse you, Nephilim! May the Light give you a long and bitter doom, you unholy one, for the atrocity you just committed!”

Bathsheba wasn't listening - slowly, gently, she rose, carrying her macabre trophy. She went to face the immense Lilith and presented her offering: “Here you have, Holy Mother, as you asked me...”

Marcus moved up and stumbled toward the bloodied altar. Neither the incubi nor the manticores, nor the rest of demons who suddenly began to gather, waiting in the room, tried to prevent it, as they were interested in watching the ritual.

The old man slipped on the steps, splattered in blood, and arrived awkwardly on the edge of the altar. He stared at Lara's broken, butchered body, and tore his hair in despair, not realizing he was smearing in her blood: “Oh dear, I failed you... forgive me, forgive me...!”

“Mar... cus...”

Hearing the hesitant, bloodless words, the old Healer looked at her and noticed horrified _she was still alive_. The bloody knife was still at the foot of the altar, where Bathsheba had left it. But he was unable to finish her. No, he couldn't...

“Mar... cus...”

He leaned over her. She was close to death, her skin gray and her lips ashen - and he couldn't even ease her suffering.

Lara moved again her lips.

“Tell me, child!” Marcus whimpered, and bent the ear to stick it to her mouth.

The voice came out weak and breathy. “T... P...  t...”

“What? I can't hear you, child!” _Holy Light, have mercy and take her away!_

“The ... Per... pt...”

“Child, I need you to speak more clearly, try it!”

Lara's face turned towards Lilith's statue, and again uttered that incongruous syllable.

Suddenly, Marcus noticed what she was pointing out. “The Periapt! You want the Periapt!”

He looked around nervously. Each time there were more demons, of different species, as he'd never seen, crowding the place. But no one was watching at him - everyone looked to the Mother, awaiting Her awakening.

The Lux Veritatis ran to the stairs and took the Periapt, then returned to Lara, but she had no strength to lift an arm, so he approached it to her lips - for suddenly, as an inspiration, he came just to understand what was Lara Croft's last will.

The British explorer moved her lips softly, staining the engraving the area with blood. But twice she stopped, breathless. Her head fell back and her eyes rolled upward, staying blank.

“I'll help you, child, but it's you who must say it!” Marcus slid his wiry hand under the woman's neck and lifted her head.

The last words came in a faint whisper... “An... ge... Is...”

On the heights, Bathsheba had opened a gap, by way of mouth, in the mask of the Goddess, using another Periapt Shard, which cut everything. After that, she introduced the bloody offering in the statue's mouth.

“He... ar... my... voice...”

There was deep silence. Bathsheba folded her hands and exclaimed: “Wake up, Mother! Come back to us!”

Lara breathed for the last time. “... the... Amazon... is calling you!”

A tremendous tremor began to shake the Vortex’s foundations. At first it was a faint buzz, which grew monstrously at an impact speed. Large chunks of stone fell from the ceiling. Demons shrank in terror - only Bathsheba remained impassive.

The mask was broken. Slowly, and endless bunch of cracks spread over the surface of the statue, leaving glowing traces. The whole statue suffered and seemed to vibrate, to move, because the asleep creature for centuries in lethargy, dreaming of the day of vengeance, had awakened.

Lilith came back.

“Blessed Light... child, she's awakened her!”

But Lara couldn't hear Marcus' words anymore. He looked at her and uttered a cry. Trembling, he gently rested her head on the hard stone and closed her eyes.


	50. Beings Of Light

“Lara's dead.” Kurtis said, his voice fading, his lips barely moving. He was leaning against the rock wall for he couldn't go on.

In front of him, Maddalena wrung her hands and said: _“Dio!_ It won't be true.”

Kurtis slowly raised his head. His lips were blue. Along with the living and dry blood which soaked his face he looked totally sinister. “Wish it wasn't true.” He muttered. “I knew they would do that to her. Nothing less than _that_.”

_That's it, Warrior_ , Loanna sadly said, whom only he could see, _we, the_ _women who are strong, we're humiliated that way. Demons, humans, the irony is that, ultimately, everyone's equal. Don’t give up now. You swore an oath._

“I've failed her.” Kurtis murmured again, with forced blankness. “This is the Bitter Path.”

“No!” Maddalena. “Everything will be fine. We'll overcome.”

“If only they had tortured her... she was very strong, but she wasn't prepared for... they raped and butchered her and ripped...”

“Hush, for God's sake!” The redhead lunged and covered his mouth. _“Santa Madonna!_ You're burning! No wonder you're delusional. You're hurt, tired, feverish...you must rest. You'll see how everything works out, you'll stop seeing ghosts, having bad, false visions...”

_There's no time for that_ , said Loanna, _for nothing is crueller than reality_.

Kurtis had no strength. He collapsed on the floor, shaking. He no longer had eyes to weep, but was crying anyway with hoarse sobs born from the depths of his being. He put his hands on his destroyed face. “I've failed her.” He obsessively repeated, while the blood was still slipping through the cracks of his fingers. “I just wanted to save her, and I failed.”

“That's not true!”

_You'll fail only if you stay inactive. Arise!_ Loanna's voice was now severe. _Don't shame your partner! She's died to give you a chance. Lilith has risen, fueled by the blood of your son! But even now you're not alone. Arise, or you'll fail!_

“Courage.” Maddalena gripped his hands. “We can't stay here. Let's go on. Maybe you're wrong and she's not...”

A bright light blinded her. She screamed in pain and covered her eyes. Even Kurtis, who could see thanks to the Gift, caught that iridescent and powerful clarity. Three bright figures began to take shape before them. Loanna was the first to react. She took a few steps ahead and bowed in respect.

The light was fading until three figures, shaping tall and slender, three beings made of light, lined up next to each other. Their bodies were male and they were naked, but had enormous wings, too bright and almost transparent, which they sprang back up above their head and spread widely. At first no one could glimpse their faces, for they were pure light spots.

_Hail to you, oh Venerable, oh Ancients_ , Loanna waved her hands to her lips and then to the forehead.

Finally they could see them clearly. Maddalena dropped to her knees, trembling, speechless, and dug her fingers into Kurtis' shoulder. _“Oh Dio mio_ , this can't be true.”

There were three angels: tall, gorgeous and breathtaking. Their bodies, though naked, had no trace of hair, bend or imperfection, for they were like marble statues, like ancient Greek gods and heroes of canonical perfection. And yet, they were different despite how similar they seemed, as the angel in the center was stocky and gave a powerful impression; the one on the right was agile and vital, while the left one had a milder form, like a teenager. The beauty of their faces was overwhelming. Such perfect beauty had never been seen before, since even Bathsheba's features weren't comparable with the brightness of their faces and the strength of their looks.

With her heart pounding, Maddalena noticed the angel in the center was holding a silver sword; the one on the right, something like a stick used by pilgrims, but also silverish; and the left one was just holding languidly a pen and an unrolled scroll almost touching the ground. This young-looking angel was the one who spoke, using a multiple and indefinite voice, which was both young and old, male and female, and sounded like a thousand voices in unison: _Peace be with you, even in times like these. Also to you, Giulia the Sicilian, despite the demons that torment you. You were raised a Catholic and so you can recognize us. Indeed, we are the Three Archangels, servants of the Father. I am Gabriel, the Messenger, and these are Michael, the Warrior; and Raphael, the Guide. We came because she called us while dying._

_...while dying..._ repeated an echo of his many voices.

Kurtis slowly raised his face at hearing that. “Lara called you?”

_Indeed_ , Gabriel said softly, looking sadly at the man, _we came to help you, Son of Light, because darkness is too strong now and your energy is flagging._

_...flagging..._

Michael stepped forward. Despite his beauty, his stern and frowning look made him terrible. He'd long blond hair and luminous eyes as a spring of water. He raised his silver sword and touched Kurtis' chin with the blade's tip, forcing him to raise his blind head. In his attitude there was something fascinating, a kind of disdainful aggressiveness. Maddalena embraced Kurtis' shoulders, protective, scared at the angel's attitude. _He's not but a poor mortal_ , his voices, unlike Gabriel's, were an amalgam of deep and powerful tones, _he'd no faith in his heart and had to sacrifice his sight to actually see. Such unfortunate._

_...unfortunate..._

Then Raphael intervened. His voices were more didactic and prosaic: _Body's eyes are worthless, for we only truly see with the heart. Tell us, young mortal, what do you want from us?_

_...us..._

Kurtis mumbled: “Nothing. It was Lara who called you. Do whatever she wanted.”

Michael withdrew the sword, to Maddalena's relief. Gabriel smiled. _But she sent us to you. She said you'd answer, she said it with her last breath. Now you're the only one left._

_...only one left..._

At that time, the fascinated Maddalena reached out to the young angel and tried to touch his leg, but she didn't feel anything, neither hot nor cold, nor any rubbing. Gabriel smiled again. _Sorry, little Giulia, but we're not made of human flesh - you can't touch us._

_...touch us..._

Kurtis said sourly: “Lara's dead. Nothing else matters. You're angels. You'll know what to do.”

Michael frowned. _So you're the one who was to come, the mighty Warrior of Light? You’re rather cowardly. The Great Harlot just woke up and you mourn and shame your partner, who at least had the courage to fight until death._

_...death..._

Loanna stepped forward and placed her hand on Kurtis' shoulder, a contact he could feel but was not corporeal. _Oh Venerable Saint Michael, have mercy on him. You're a divine being and don't know about neither human suffering, nor the ravages it makes in our weak hearts. I beg you to assist him, for the Amazon asked this of you, and you listened to her in the past, when she invoked your Oracle._

Raphael leaned over and peered into Kurtis' face. Then he shook his head and muttered: _He brings death written on him!_

_…_ _on him..._

Kurtis smiled bitterly. “Well, that’s good news.”

_There's no time to waste_ , ruled Michael, standing, _I'll talk to Samael._

_...Samael..._ The echo reverberated multitudinous, dragging the dreaded name.

Maddalena saw the young Gabriel quiver and nailed his frightened eyes to his companion. _Brother, the Father hasn't given you permission for it._

_…_ _for it..._

_I'll talk to him_ , Michael's expression was firm, _don't worry, little one, for I beat him once, and so I can do it again_ , and when saying this he gripped the hilt of his sword. _And if I fail, may the Father punish me._

_...punish me..._

No one seemed to be in the universe to punish that powerful and magnificent creature. Maddalena couldn't take her eyes off them, big tears running down her cheeks. Now a red aura was surrounding Michael, who raised his sword and spread his wings. _Samael will listen to me._

_…_ _listen to me..._ A glow surrounded him and he instantly vanished.

Raphael came and told Kurtis: _I, by myself, will guide you to where your partner died, where the Unholy Goddess is awakening. Be strong and take comfort for she's no longer suffering. She's at peace, for I, by myself, snatched her soul when leaving her body, for the demons wanted to grab her and drag her into the blackness, and I've taken her to the Light. Rejoice and fight, because if you're brave, you'll see her again._

_...see her again..._

Maddalena came out of her fascination and dried her tears. “Now what?” And fearing having been disrespectful, she added.  “Oh Saints, oh Venerable, oh Ancients!”

Gabriel smiled, as if being amused by those epithets. _Now, forward, towards either end._

_...either end..._

Raphael stood, stretched the rod and the rocky wall opened before him, revealing a path in the rock, dimly lit by his celestial body. Maddalena helped Kurtis to get up.

_Follow me, it's about time. Gabriel..._

_I know, Brother. Come on, Loanna Von Skopf, you've been involved enough. Go back to your well-deserved rest. I'll be back soon._

_...soon..._ said his youthful echo, and vanished after a blue flame, taking the silent and rueful Loanna with him.

Slowly, both Kurtis and Maddalena made their way, following Raphael's luminous aura, towards the restless darkness.

 

* * *

 

Michael landed softly on the ground, folded his wings and scanned the darkness around him. Then he shouted: _Samael!_

_...Samael..._

There was no need to repeat it beyond the echo of his voices. A flash of light materialized before him, grew, grew and led to another being of light.

_What an honor. Look who deigns to visit me after all this time._

_...this time..._

The warrior archangel managed to hide his surprise. The being standing in front of him was just as he remembered, he'd changed nothing over millennia. He was the same as when he had defeated and condemned him to eternal darkness.

_What's up, Brother?_ Samael said sarcastically. _Did you expect, perhaps, to see me with horns and a tail, as the mortals think I am?_

_.. I am..._

The archangel Samael, the same one called Satan by mortals, differed very little from the beautiful and splendid Michael. He was so beautiful, tall and strong like him, except his eyes and his thick hair were jet black.

_If you want, I can take that shape. Christian churches are full of images of yourself kicking me, a terrible monster. Would you feel more comfortable if no one's competing with your power, isn't that right, Brother?_

_... Brother..._

_Enough. I didn't come to see your tricks. The one you call your bride just woke up._

_...woke up..._

_In my presence, you'll treat my wife Lilith with due respect._

_...respect..._

Michael's harmonious factions contracted. He moved the sword so fast that a millisecond after the blade brushed Samael's mouth.

_Be careful. I stuck this sword in your mouth once. Only the Father deserves respect._

_...respect..._

The other one smiled calmly. _Ah, Mi-ka-el_ , he hissed, pronouncing his name in Hebrew, _How little angels change. Millions of millennia had passed and we continue as ever. While wasting time on these bluster, my wife is waking up and She's very angry. She's determined to avenge our fall into darkness._

_...darkness..._

_You must stop her, Samael._

_...Samael..._

_How, is that an order?_

_...order..._

_If you don't obey, she'll be destroyed. And you and your demons, too._

_...too..._

_Nothing can destroy us, except the Father, as you know. And even He didn't want to destroy us in the past. He imagined a worse punishment, the long agony in this endless blackness. Seeing how my brothers were transformed into hideous monsters, slowly, while my wife and I remained incorruptible. Yes, Moloch was once even more lovely than the gentle Gabriel, and look at him now. He's become as cruel as the most despicable of mortals. We're the Father's creation, and this is what He's done to us._

_...to us..._

The warrior archangel's fist tightened on the hilt of his sword while clenching his snowy teeth: _If you keep blaspheming, I'll rip out your tongue, Samael._

_...Samael..._

_You're a good fighter and a faithful servant, Michael, but I'm smarter. You need me, both me and my tongue._

_...tongue..._

_Will you stop Lilith?_

_...Lilith..._

_Under one condition._

_...condition..._

_How dare you put conditions?_

_...conditions ..._

_For I am the bold, and you're the obedient. Send this message I’ll tell you to Father, and if He accepts my conditions, I'll stop Her. Otherwise, I'll let Her to unleash Her righteous wrath._

_...wrath..._

_Are you trying to negotiate with the Father? Who do you think you are?_

_...you are..._

Samael smiled. _The devil himself._

_... himself..._

 

* * *

 

_My Daughter..._ Her voice was like all the voices of all women everywhere in unison. Great, terrible, very worthy.

Bathsheba knelt on the floor, trembling. The light coming from the broken statue blinded her. She closed her eyes, shuddering.

_You've done well, my Daughter. Welcome to my Kingdom. Now tell me what you want and I will grant it._

She'd decided it so long ago, but at that moment her voice failed. The Nephilim trembled, forced again her voice and mumbled: “Destroy, Blessed Mother, the Periapt and the Shards, so that nothing can hurt me or harm me anymore in this world.”

_So be it._


	51. Atonement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image of the chapter is "Ascent", an artwork by Rebecca Yanovskaya.

So there was only the sound of silence. The atmosphere of primeval creation.

Raphael guided them, as promised, to the Mother's Throne. _That's not but the remains of the stone effigy which contained Her. She's awakened._

_...awakened..._ the archangel's echo repeated.

Suddenly, Maddalena screamed in horror. Then she covered her mouth, but it was too late. She'd just seen Lara's corpse at the altar.

Kurtis turned his face towards there. “What’s happening?” He said. “I can't see anything.”

_Thank God for that,_ the archangel said, _for your blindness is a blessing..._

_...a blessing.._.

Not convinced, the Lux Veritatis took a step forward, but a choked voice stopped him: “My son... you're here.”

“Marcus.”

The old man was curled up at the foot of the bloodstained altar. He still clutched the book in his hands, but he left it aside, speechless, when his eyes spotted the glowing angel behind Kurtis. “Then you've come!” He exclaimed. “You've listened to her!”

_We've come so many more_ , Raphael granted, _to engage in combat if necessary..._

_...necessary..._

Kurtis moved, his arms slightly extended. He could see Marcus wrapped in a dim light, but behind him there was nothing. The old man walked four steps awkwardly, and clung to the young's arms. “Can you see, my son?”

“I see.” Kurtis replied. “I see all things, lit with the Light.”

“You see everything alive. What's alive shines at the Light. Praised be the Light. Your blindness has given you the power to win, you know?”

Oblivious to his speech, Kurtis got rid of Marcus and stepped toward the altar. Maddalena shrieked. “Stop him! Don't let him get close!”

“What for?” Marcus sighed. “He already knows. She's here.”

The Italian girl shook her head indignantly. Was he insane? She ran after Kurtis but didn't arrive in time. Kurtis had laid his hand on the altar and withdrew it almost instantly, wincing. Then he lifted it up to his face, but he couldn't see the blood. He rubbed his fingers, feeling a sticky and cold substance between them.

The redhead grabbed his arm. “Leave it. Go away.”

“Blood.”

“Yes.”

“ _Her_ blood.” The Fighter jerked and turned towards the altar. Now, he touched the corpse. He withdrew his hands as if in a spasm, and then began to touch, frantically, the body he'd loved so many times, recognizing Lara's face, her hair, her lips, her breasts... her belly, ripped and torn apart...

Maddalena groaned and rested her head on Kurtis' shoulder, sure that would destroy the remains of sanity left in him. However, she had to go back, startled, for suddenly Kurtis' skin became hot, very hot, until the emanating heat became unbearable and she went away, while glimpsing an orange aura around his body.

“What?...”

A few meters away, Bathsheba's glowing figure had appeared. While Kurtis' aura was orange and incandescent, hers was blue, glacial, as a cold wind from the North. She walked slowly towards him.

“Did you do this?” Kurtis asked, pointing to the altar with a vague, inaccurate gesture.

“I only finished her.” She replied. “Moloch did all the rest.”

Maddalena gasped. Marcus was motionless, silent. The archangel just stood by and watched.

“I might have spared you.”

“I'd no choice. It was commanded to me. Believe me, I didn't hate her, nor your child. Those were orders. The Mother ordered.”

“The Mother... where's that damn freak?”

“Your blasphemies are useless, but I'll answer. She's gone to join Her Husband. Then She will come, even before you want.”

Kurtis took two strides and stood in front of her. Bathsheba didn't flee, but confronted him even when he put his hands around her neck. She writhed in pain, unable to resist his touch, but didn't flee. She dug her hands on his chest. The two aurae merged. And so Kurtis skin began to burn under her fingers.

“No!” Maddalena yelled. “This is no way ...!” But she stopped in surprise to see that they remained motionless, suspended, while clinging to each other, as if neither were hurting each other anymore.

Bathsheba looked stunned, not understanding what was happening, and then Kurtis leaned and whispered quickly something that Maddalena couldn't hear, having had to go back several steps, repelled by their bright aura. Then, the buzz increased and she couldn't hear anything.

“That's not true.” Bathsheba was saying. “You're lying, trying to deceive me.”

“Fine.” Kurtis said, shrugging. “You'll soon see it's true. Even before you want.” He topped, using the same words she used previously.

The Nephilim frowned and broke away. “Why should I believe you? You've every reason to hate me, to desire my destruction.”

“I can't destroy you now, but She, the other, will destroy you.”

“The Mother has promised...”

“She duped you. Do what you want. But if you accept what I propose, we'll survive and we'll win. Otherwise we can fight until you kill me, or avoid Her to let Her do what She wants.”

Bathsheba hesitated a moment. She looked furious, and finally said: “A lie. I won't falter now...” But suddenly, she stopped. The air thickened around them.

An unseen force swept them, and they were knocked to the ground. Their aurae extinguished. The earth shook and the ceiling of the cave cracked, and through the cracks shone an intense light.

“She's coming.” Marcus announced, but no one, not even Maddalena, who was curled up next to him and clutched him, could hear that.

The archangel Raphael had disappeared.

 

* * *

 

Lilith came.

Awakened from her lengthy slumber, finally alive again, she'd taken very little time to weigh her options and discover, not without malice, that the legions of heaven were to face Her as they had done ages ago. It didn't matter. She was ready to win. But first, even before seeing Her beloved Spouse, whose restless call chased her through the darkness, She wanted to see Her kin. Those who were more Hers than Her Husband Himself.

 

* * *

 

The light was folded, bent over a million times, and amid the merger of those thousands of folds a woman emerged - a beautiful creature, the first among all women, the Creator's masterpiece.

Kurtis and Bathsheba raised their faces from the ground, but couldn't get up. The others, Marcus and Maddalena, couldn't see anything, for the light beams hurt their eyes so they had them tightly squeezed shut. Neither the young Lux Veritatis, blind of his mortal eyes, and Bathsheba, who'd been renewed, could bear to stare at that flawless beauty, which compared with, the Nephilim was but a sad and gloomy being.

Apparently, she was just a woman. A tall, strong woman of pearly skin, soft belly, firm breasts and a golden, very long hair, which fell in countless locks that reached the ground. A woman of deep black eyes, who smiled with a smile that would have doomed the holiest of men, as it had doomed the purest of the archangels.

When seeing her with his new sight, Kurtis was surprised by how a seemingly harmless creature could be so lethal - for he was stymied, unable to make the least movement or to use his Gift in any way. She was holding him. He was immobilized.

_My son._

The young Lux Veritatis had expected her voice to sound grandiose, multiplied like the archangels, provided she was a supernatural being. But her voice was hopelessly human, sweet, soft, like the voice of a mother, forever young. He looked at her, puzzled, for she seemed very young, like a virgin, frozen forever at that indefiniteness age between adolescence and adulthood.

_My son, how long I've longed to see you._

Kurtis had expected any kind of reception, maybe the worst, the most cruel, or at least cold, pure and simple indifference, but not _that_. That irresistible creature walked up to him, still unable to move, and extended a hand which gently stroked his cheek.

_Just perfect, as I arranged. I didn't fail in my task._

She turned towards Bathsheba, took her arm and lifted her, but the Nephilim nodded and stood with her eyes fixed on the ground as a sign of respect.

_I guess you know your brother. Why haven't you greeted him? He's my Son as you're my Daughter._

“So he told me.” Bathsheba said, trembling, still staring at the ground. “But I couldn't believe him.”

_It's true_ , Lilith said. _I bred his first ancestor from a mortal, a Lux Veritatis. I instilled in him my power as a special gift, making them stronger, more powerful than ever. And he, the one I've expected, he's the most perfect of them all._

Bathsheba felt a tremendous cold sensation gripping her. “So, Mother, why have you made me fight him as an enemy?”

_To tame his will. See how even now he's trying to attack me, the ungrateful, that's why I have to submit him._ And then She addressed him. _You've nothing to do against me, it's me who gave you that Gift which makes you so strong, and I can take it away from you. That Light your people has praised for centuries is my Light. The Light of the Mother of all Nephilim._

Kurtis smiled. “Only one thing left to do now.”

_You'll breed a new race of Nephilim with my daughter Bathsheba - these new will be immortal, these will be perfect. Merge the immortality and strength of my daughter to your great powers and skills, and you'll be invincible and rule the world. You'll rule over mankind and be obeyed by all nations. And my Husband and I will submit the legions of angels to help the rest of the fallen ones, so we'll crush the Authority._

Bathsheba stood motionless, aghast to hear what she hadn't wanted to believe. She noted a cold sensation spreading throughout her body, paralyzing her again.

 

* * *

 

So that was it. All those big promises, glorious fates to which she was intended... all ended in joining herself to that mortal she hated and despised, to breed the offspring of the Nephilim race. A mortal man who was clearly Her favorite, for his birth had been planned so long ago. She was _not_ important. She was just an accident, an useful piece strategically placed. She was nothing. She was not the end. Only the means.

Bathsheba looked up slowly and stared at Kurtis, whose blind face was turned towards her, expectantly. Hatred, contempt, suddenly vanished in her. She felt that everything she'd done up to that moment hadn't had any sense. So much effort... plans, talks, threats, confrontations... Lara's sacrifice. She'd killed the mortal woman just for nothing. She'd killed her child just for nothing. She'd awakened the monster of her Mother, an unscrupulous, selfish being, just for nothing.

She'd opened a Pandora's box, only to discover there was no reward inside, but punishment. She would remain a tool, a means, something to use and throw away.

She had been wrong in everything.

 

* * *

 

All those thoughts went through Bathsheba's mind for just a split second. Then her dull lips whispered: “Alright. I accept your deal.”

Kurtis smiled. “Fine.” He reached out to Bathsheba and grabbed her.

Lilith had needed only half the time Bathsheba had used in make that decision to understand that their gesture wasn't meaning submission to her plans, but to open a rebellion against her. Her sweet face expression didn't change, but Her voice slowly crawled towards them: _Don't even dare defy me. You've neither power nor will to confront me. Your fate was already decided before you were born, long ago._

“Our fate will be decided by us. Right now.” Kurtis said with cold calm.

He still hadn't finished talking when he found himself kissing the ground, pierced by a pain which flooded his senses. He'd expected so - it was exactly what he wanted.

_You'll obey._

“No.”

Again. It was like a thousand of blocks crushing him, breaking every bone.

_You can't endure this longer, my dear son._

“Yes I can.” Kurtis thought he was going crazy. It was unbearable. Then he noticed a spark, a flash of light. Bathsheba finally confronted Lilith. But the Daughter wasn't greater than the Mother and the Great Goddess, without even moving a muscle of her face, crashed the Nephilim on the ground and made her scream in pain.

_I'm sorry, my dear children. You lack discipline. I will give you some._

Bathsheba shrieked, torn, writhing in pain.

 

* * *

 

At that moment, different things happened. The first one was that Maddalena got up and looked in horror at the scene, and then, slowly, she felt delivered from all the fear, pain and doubt. A huge cold sensation made her shiver, and then, nothing. An immense peace followed that cold, and she'd no regret. It was clear.

“It's clear.” She muttered.

The Italian girl finally knew what she'd to do, why she got there, why she'd run tirelessly after a man who didn't love her, who never would love her - for the woman who'd earned that honor was lying, shattered, on the altar.

The second thing that happened was that Giselle arrived to the place. She staggered, broken, almost without senses. She'd managed to stand on her feet. When she reached the doorway, her first glance was for the altar and the mangled corpse on it. Beyond it, she saw a huge beam of light. Crouched beside the altar, the old Marcus looked at her solemnly.

“Giselle.”

And the Italian redhead woman, Maddalena, moving toward the light beam.

“Giselle Boaz!” Marcus shouted again. “Come here!”

Suddenly it was as if the blindfold fell off her eyes. She rose, full of insight, and recognized all she saw, even the corpse. What had happened there? And those piercing screams, beyond the light...

Suddenly, the earth reeled.

 

* * *

 

It was a big, strong, very violent shock. It cracked the ground and opened a huge, immense gap, who spate a burning vapor.

Pain gave a truce, so Kurtis and Bathsheba could breathe again.

Panting, they saw that Lilith lifted her face and looking upward. Then she smiled, and it was as the sun rose in that beautiful face. _My Husband._

Kurtis felt soft hands grabbing him by the arm. “Run, Maddalena. This is the end.”

“No. I want... I want to help.”

“You'd have to pay a very high price. Go away. Go with Marcus.”

“I'll pay...”

The young Lux Veritatis felt her lips touching him and heard her withdrawing. A strange fear gripped him, but he couldn't deal with it. It was beyond his means.

Bathsheba stood beside him and shook his hand. They got up, holding tightly.

“Is it meaningless to ask for forgiveness at this point?” The Nephilim whispered.

“Never.” Kurtis replied calmly. And he shouted. “Now!”

They ran together toward the altar, where Lara's body was lying, and after a moment Bathsheba was wielding the long, silver rod.

Lilith turned to face them, and her smile faded. _Put that down._

“No, Mother.”

The Great Goddess frowned. Pain was propelled against her again, but this time Kurtis stepped in and took the impact, protecting her. Then Bathsheba rose up against her Mother, holding the Scepter, ready to strike her.

She didn't reach Her - but she perfectly felt Her contact.

The Nephilim felt paralyzed, panting - her Mother, with Her hand raised, was holding her again. _You can't use this against me, you fool. I created it myself. It answers only to me._

Lilith's white, small, delicate hand grabbed the Scepter and easily took it from Bathsheba's rigid fingers. Then, without a word, the Goddess turn the blow against her. The Nephilim didn't know how she got there, but she found herself suddenly flattened against the altar. She hit her back with such force she would've had her backbone broken if being a mortal, but she only felt pain in the chest, where the Scepter had beaten her. She collapsed on the floor, panting, and soon she recovered.

Now She was speaking to Kurtis. _It would be a shame, after all that has happened, to lose this achievement in the final moment. Think about it, my son. All your sorrows and sufferings, the death of your father, the sacrifice of the woman you loved and your child, will be for nothing._

“I don't want anything from you. It's because of your fucking cause, your rebellion, the demons you released that my life has been a living hell. It's over,” he sighed, “not big on chatting, and I'm sick of this.”

The young Lux Veritatis barely saw the next blow coming. However, he even had time to use the Gift now he'd the strength to see the Light - he knew about Her attack before so he could built a kind of shield to cushion the blow. He stumbled and fell to the ground.

Now Lilith was really furious. _You dare to turn the Light against me, you maggot, against me, the one who gave you this Gift!_

Kurtis was struck again, and this time She picked him up and slammed him into the wall. He fell and felt several bones breaking by the impact, but even that wasn't as painful as the friction of that damned rod. So painful that he barely noticed his broken ribs smashing his innards. As a mortal, he was much more fragile than Bathsheba. A gush of blood came out his mouth.

The Fighter heard Maddalena screaming, but then she overcame herself with a gasp of disbelief. Giselle was almost beside him, and suddenly he heard her laughing.

Everything was put on hold.

Giselle laughed - with such a spasmodic, joyless, bitter laughter.

 

* * *

 

A stylized, shining figure materialized beside Lilith and wrapped Her in His arms. She allowed Him to embrace Her and fell into His eternal, immortal embrace. _My Wife... what have you done?_

_...have you done?_ The voice was upset.

_Look at them. For those ungrateful I put in so much effort, and all in vain._

Samael's large eyes glanced at Her, so deep, so dark. _Let them go._

_...go..._

The Mother broke away from the embrace, furious. _No! The Nephili..._

_It was a mistake. It was all a mistake. Opening the gates of Hell. Allowing the demons to invade Earth. The very existence of the Nephili. All a mistake. Causing more suffering to mortals, why?_

_... why?_

_For us! By fighting, we'll win! We'll show the Authority we're not weak anymore and we can retaliate... faced by His own legions of angels!_

_No need for mortals or the Nephili for that, my dear. Let them go._

_... go..._

Lilith's adorable body shuddered. She gripped the Scepter in Her hand when noticing Samael's fingers touching her hand.

_This instrument is atrocious, evil. You should have destroyed it long ago._

_... long ago._

_I'll use it for the fight._

_Promise me you'll leave the mortals alone. I'll get to a deal with the Lux Veritatis._

_... Lux Veritatis._

Samael disappeared from Her side and materialized again next to Kurtis. Maddalena was bending over him and clutched his hand. He was dying.

_Can you hear me, young mortal?_

_... Young mortal..._

The Lux Veritatis nodded slightly, barely. He couldn't speak.

_I have power to undo all the wrong that my Wife, with the best intentions, has done to all of you. Be as you wish - you've asked already. But you also know the consequences..._

_...consequences..._

Kurtis nodded again, with almost no strength.

_So be it._ And then, He extended His bright hand, and with a quick, merciful gesture, sank his fingers in Kurtis's chest, in his very heart, as if it was a blade.

The Lux Veritatis' agony ended on the spot.

Someone screamed aloud. It wasn't Maddalena, who was still holding Kurtis' hand, pale, watching with exhausted, dry eyes, the death of the man she'd loved in vain.

It was Lilith, the Mother of all _Nephili_. She yelled in rage and fury. _My son ... my most perfect creation among mortals!_

Samael returned calmly beside Her. _You'd already killed him, Wife... and in any case, he'd have never surrendered..._

_...surrendered ..._

Lilith screamed again, raised Her arms and shook the earth. Then She turned towards Bathsheba, who had watched that horrible scene in horror, immobile, as she clung to the altar. _And you, my Daughter... I will punish you... damned, for having rebelled against me. I'll give you the worst punishment imaginable..._

The Nephilim awaited death calmly - but nothing happened. Samael embraced His Wife and said: _Come on... it's time to regain our lost honor..._

_... Lost honor..._ And both beings of light, beautiful as gods, disappeared amid light.

The cavern began to sink.

 

* * *

 

Giselle was laughing out loud. She looked at Lara's corpse and laughed. She looked at Kurtis's corpse and laughed. But she was not insane - at least, not anymore. Her laughter was happy, though bitter, seeing the death of her most hated enemies. She had come back to her senses, at that time, at that moment, which the last one of her existence – though she didn't know.

She noticed Maddalena waking up and coming towards her, walking slowly, very slowly. The Cabal scientist didn't go away. She was not scared of her. When the redhead came over, she grabbed her by the neck: “What's wrong with you, damn slut? Is your great love dead? Come here!”

They staggered a moment, seizing one to another. Then Maddalena, who'd recovered her strength without knowing when and how, began to push Giselle back, slowly, inexorably. The doctor beat her alternately on either side of her head, but by the time she realized what her rival was doing, it was too late.

The abyss was just behind her.

The Italian girl gave her one last final push. “Die.” She heard her hissing between her pretty teeth.

Giselle lost stability, unbalanced... and with a scream of horror, she fell through the huge cracks. She tried to cling to Maddalena, but it was in vain - her fingers seized no more than shreds of clothing and tufts of reddish hair. The Cabal scientist sank in the dark, and only a long cry accompanied her in the fall.

Maddalena breathed deeply and turned.

“A life for a life...” It was Marcus who'd spoken. He'd risen, dropping the book at his feet. “A life for a life.” He smiled sadly. “Even life taken away by force can offer redemption for a lost life.”

Maddalena nodded. She was calm, serene. It all made sense in the end.

“It's time to go, my dear. I'm leaving too.” The old Healer walked calmly to the abyss, but in his way he gently stroked the edge of the altar, and even leaned over to kiss Lara's forehead. Then he went towards Bathsheba, who'd collapsed on the floor, and said to her: “Do you see, my dear? You did it. You've redeemed yourself. You're saved. Thank you.”

“No, Marcus! You...” Maddalena was on him, trying to stop him, but he dropped himself, with a smile, over the edge, and plunged into the void without a cry, with perfect peace.

The cavern was still shaking. Thick pieces of stone fell from the ceiling. Bathsheba didn't move. She was staring at nowhere...

“Bathsheba!” The redhead yelled. “Come on, get up!” She grabbed and shook her, but found her cold and stiff.

The beautiful Nephilim looked at her. “Don't worry, I can't die. But you will, right now.”

Maddalena nodded. “I give my life for him. Would be it accepted as payment?”

“Yes, so it was written.”

Reeling, Maddalena returned next to Kurtis, hugged his shattered body, and whispered her last words, before passing into peace: “I'd have done anything if you'd loved me.”

Finally the cavern collapsed completely. Everything sank. Before dying, Maddalena still noticed a strange white shape, young, solemn, blinking in the blackness.

Then, peace.

 

* * *

 

Hundreds of miles away, in a cold hospital room, Selma Al-Jazeera, in a coma for over a month, awoke.

She opened her eyes and stood panting. Then she screamed.

Zip, who slept beside her slouched back in a hospital chair, jumped up. When he saw her moving and looking at him, he ran towards her and hugged her with great strength, mumbling a bunch of incongruous words.

Selma, still confused, understood nothing of what was going on. She could only mumble: “The atonement is accomplished...”


	52. Epilogue: Anna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image is an official render of Croft Manor in Surrey, taken from Tomb Raider III.

Marie Cornel left the tent and worriedly scanned the desolate landscape. It hadn't been yet an entire day since Lara disappeared, following Kurtis across the ruins of the Sibilla temple. The Navajo woman knew nothing since then and didn't expect news any time soon - her life experience didn't bode anything cheering.  
Sighing, she turned and was about to enter back into the tent, where Radha was waiting, when suddenly something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

A man emerged from the ruins and walked slowly, slowly towards her. He was wrapped in a kind of torn fabric, randomly taken from somewhere, and also carried a body wrapped in a similar garment in his arms. When he was close enough for her to recognize him, Marie went on to race and overtook them.  
“Kurtis!” She cried, and clutched his arm. “What ...?”  
For a moment, she was so surprised by his sudden appearance that she didn't realize when she touched him that she couldn't feel the usual warmth of her son's body, his higher temperature, compared to ordinary mortals, due to the Gift. She also didn’t realize he was rather cold, icy, and almost shivering.  
The person wrapped in his arms had her head against his chest and was still. Marie half removed the cloth that covered her and found the familiar face - relaxed, covered by a long, thick brown hair.  
“What's wrong with Lara?” The Navajo woman muttered, and without waiting for an answer, checked the pulse in her neck and breathing. She seemed fine, but...  
“She's only unconscious.” Kurtis replied laconically. “She won't wake any time soon - better not to disturb her.”  
Then Marie realized that he was shivering. She looked at him, dumbfounded. “You're freezing?” She stammered. “You? It can't be...”  
“Doesn't matter now.” He interrupted, and walked towards their tent. Ignoring his mother's questions and protests and before Radha's surprised and lively glance, he entered the tent, laid Lara on one of the cots and wrapped her well with the cloth because – they noticed at that moment - she was naked underneath, like him. Then he turned and dropped himself into a nearby seat, without uttering a word.  
“For all spirits' sake!” Marie yelled, exasperated. “What the hell happened?”  
Kurtis stared at her for a moment. He was cold, very cold – and he also looked surprisingly young. The Navajo woman noticed, stunned, that his age marks, his grief, and even his old scars, like the one across his eye, had disappeared. He seemed ten years younger. And he was shivering, even though they were in the desert and the sun had risen.  
“We're fine.” He merely added. “The three of us.”

 

* * *

 

Hours later, when Lara opened her eyes and returned to the world she'd left, safe and sound and with a gap in her memory she couldn't fill, another figure emerged from the ruins, also dressed in what she could find. She staggered out, stunned by the new earthly sounds and sensations she was beginning to feel. She collapsed on the sand, searching for something with which to injure, took a sharp stone, and cut her forearm. A new sharp pain shot through her skin, and then red, warm and bright blood flowed from the wound - which didn't heal right away, as she'd expected.  
Bending over herself, she screamed.

 

* * *

 

“You're freezing.” Lara reached out and grabbed Kurtis' wrist.

He smiled. “I've been frozen for hours.”  
“You used to be a boiling furnace.” She scanned his face. “And I remember you more...”  
“More...?”  
“Older. You look younger. Like, several years younger.”  
“Nice.” He was still smiling. Was he making fun of her?

The man reached out, picked up the small mirror he used to shave and put it before Lara's face, who looked at her reflection, startled.

“You see. You're also younger.”  
The British explorer frowned, pushed the mirror away and snapped: “Tell me what happened.”  
“What do you remember?”  
She pursed her lips and then said: “I... a demon attacked me, broke my arm. Then I was dragged up to an altar...” And she shrugged in frustration.  
“That's all?”  
“Yes!”  
Kurtis leaned back in the chair. “Perfect, then.” And suddenly he winced, for Lara had unloaded a punch against his shoulder.  
“How dare you? Tell me what the hell happened, why we're back, where the others are, why you're cold and we look younger!”  
“So many questions at once.”  
Lara stood up, furious, and tossed aside the cloth that wrapped her. Then she began to dress furiously. “Well then. I'll find out.”  
“I doubt it.”  
“Where are the others?” She insisted.  
Kurtis sighed. “Why do you ask? They're dead.”  
She looked at him in astonishment. “Dead?”  
“Giulia,” he recited, sadly “the old Marcus, even that harpy Giselle. Only the both of us have survived...the three of us, sorry.” He corrected, smiling, pointing to Lara's emerging - and intact - belly.  
“Why did they die?” She murmured. “Wait, no... I was the one who died ... right?”  
He shrugged. “Me too, and the child, if you insist. Doesn't matter anymore. We're here.”  
“Don't say it doesn't matter.” She reached again. “You're icy. What happened to you?”  
“I'm cold now. Guess my temperature will be descending to the normal level.”  
Lara looked at him inquisitively. Then, already dressed, she took a brush and began to fix her hair furiously. “You lost the Gift.”  
“Clever girl.” He smiled.  
“Why? Something tells me you've given it voluntarily.”  
“Maybe.” He was making fun of her. How dare he?  
“You've renounced the most valuable thing you had. Why?”  
“It _wasn't_ the most valuable thing I had. I delivered something I hated in return for the most valuable thing I _really_ had. Good deal.”  
“Your Gift in exchange for our lives?” Lara said, stunned.  
“No.” Kurtis smiled calmly. “My Gift only in exchange for the chance to return. You see, in that world I wasn't that special. The death of the others is which allowed us to return. A life for a life.” And then his expression turned into sadness. “I’m so sorry for them, but I'm afraid Marcus had made his choice long ago, when he knew how all would end. And Giulia, poor thing, she decided that at the last moment.” He looked away and shook his head.  
“She gave her life for you.” Lara muttered, braiding her hair quickly. “And Marcus did it for our child, for the hopes and dreams he'd put into him. But who gave it for me?”  
They looked at each other, and then Kurtis smiled with a bitter grimace. “See, in the end, even Giselle was useful.”  
Lara laughed. “Giselle? She wouldn't have willingly given her life for me, not even in her most atrocious dreams.”  
“You said it. She hadn’t given it... willingly.”  
A thick silence fell in the tent. Outside, Marie and Radha were also suspiciously quiet, listening attentively.  
“Why are we so calm?” Lara said bitterly. “This is horrible.”  
Kurtis leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I know. But what can we do.”  
Lara looked at him carefully. He was younger, even more attractive than before if possible, but now he was a man like any other. There was nothing special in him... nothing compared to that fabulous Gift. He'd gladly delivered it as payment for the price of blood.  
“You have to tell me more. All of it.”  
“I will. But now gimme a break. I'd never felt better.” He smiled without opening his eyes. “Everything's settled now.”

 

* * *

 

She took a long time to coax all from him, but there were things he never would tell her, despite threats, shouts, and even punches she used. Kurtis never told her how she'd died, or what happened to Bathsheba. Furthermore, some of those details were left to matter when they learned that Selma had awakened from her coma, and apart from a slight confusion, she was well, as well as could be expected.  
Lara was furious at being unable to remember, without knowing that gap in her memory was a merciful gesture, a given grace, from which one Kurtis was not sure whom to thank.  
Anyway, they had much more important things to care about.

 

* * *

 

**One year later**

Lara and Radha were sitting on a park bench in downtown London. The young Indian girl was elegantly dressed, and beside her, Lara looked like a distinguished, but unrecognizable lady. It seemed a good time of rest, except that Radha was crying.  
“You let go of me. Now that you have a baby, you don't want me anymore.”  
“Don't be silly, Radha. I took care of you while I could. But you know we're not the right people for you. Look what we did to you.” She lifted the girl's hand, revealing her terrible mutilation.  
“That was _not_ your fault.”  
But Lara didn't want to discuss more and relaxed, waiting calmly. She had it all thought out. She was satisfied with her efforts - finally, she'll do something good for Radha.  
A white silhouette walked through the park, towards them. She was a woman, also very elegantly dressed, with her face hidden by a hat. She was up to them and politely greeted with a nod. Radha, her eyes full of tears, barely looked at her.

Lara then elbowed her. “Radha, here's the person who'll take care of you from now on.”  
Trembling, the Indian girl looked up. At first she thought she was dreaming. She wiped her tears and studied with attention that face. There was something wrong with it, no doubt. Her expression was rigid, strange, as if she'd changed her face to one that was not hers. She was not pretty, she seemed spoiled, however, those eyes were powerfully familiar to her.

Then, the woman spoke in urdhu. “Radha, my little Radha, do you recognize me?”  
The girl had been paralyzed, to immediately identify her voice. Was it possible? However, she remembered her face, torn, disfigured. That woman had to hide behind a veil to not scare away the soldiers she needed to visit to survive, because her family had given up feeding her. That face was not there, as if it had been uprooted and replaced by another.  
“I'm your sister Sita, Radha, do you remember me?”  
Without saying anything, the girl jumped into her arms, laughing and crying at once. Lara stood in respectful silence for a moment, then said, addressing to Radha: “Your sister survived, as you can see. Shortly before you were given in marriage to the old man, an NGO working with marginalized women in India asked her to collaborate with them. During all this time she's been working with them and trying to help people in their hard daily life. A year ago, a plastic surgeon proposed her to restore her face as far as possible. She's not the face you remember, but she's her. I struggled to find her, but here you have her. She'd been searching for you tirelessly. Now she'll take care of you.”  
Radha didn't need further confirmation. The face didn't matter. It was _her -_ her hands, her eyes, her voice... overgrown, turned into a woman. Beyond the disgrace, they had reunited themselves again  
Sita looked over her sister's shoulder and looked at Lara: “You don't want money or any kind of favor. So, how to thank you for what you've done for us?”  
Lara shrugged. “I neither know nor want it. I won't deceive you: meeting your sister was totally accidental. It never entered into my plans. I haven't done much.”  
Sita shook her head - she'd the same beautiful black hair as her sister- and smiled. “You've done more than that. She could have died in the jungle. You picked up my sister, you dealt with her, when nothing forced you to. You kept her at your hand, and then you sought me out.”  
Lara shrugged again and smiled. She wouldn't say she'd no idea why she'd done that. Then she shifted uncomfortably, because Radha had pounced on her, giving her many thanks, and the British explorer wasn't used to cuddling.  
After watching them for a while after the two sisters, embraced at the waist, went away, Lara sighed contentedly, but couldn't help but grin at the thought she probably wouldn’t see that lovely girl again. “If I could to see myself years ago...” She muttered, smiling mockingly. Again, she put on her hat to cover her face, and made her way back.

 

* * *

 

Another huge surprise was waiting in her manor hall at Surrey when she arrived. Lara hadn't been told about it because Winston, very old, lay in bed and was relieved of his duties, although no one could prevent him from constantly checking the crib which since a year ago was in one of the upper rooms.  
Therefore, when Lara closed the door of her home and turned around, she was shocked to see her mother, Lady Angeline Croft, sitting stiffly in her guest chair. The old lady was dressed entirely in black and wore a hat with a rack veil hanging in front of the upper half of her face. She raised her eyes and looked calmly at her daughter.  
“Mother?” Lara exclaimed, astonished. “What are you doing here?”  
The lady pressed her lips in a gesture of indignation her daughter had inherited. “I'm here to meet my granddaughter - or did you think you'd succeed in hiding her from me forever?”  
Lara stared at her for a moment - then she shrugged and led her upstairs.  
Winston had fallen asleep on the sofa, but Lara's daughter was awake, clutching the bars of the crib and looking curiously at the old man snoring peacefully.  
“It's good he plays the grandfather with her.” Lady Angeline muttered, and bent to look at the child, who initially stared at her with suspicion, but then warmed to her and began to smile. “Oh, what a smart girl. She recognizes her grandmother. What's her name?”  
Lara, who'd been watching the scene silent and reflective, answered: “Anna.”  
“Nobody in our family has that name.” The lady objected, but then she added with a pout. “Although you never cared about the family.”  
“Anna's a strong name.” Lara said, ignoring her remark. “Short, sounds good and it's nice. Another advantage is that we've no one with this name, neither in the family, nor in her father's.”  
She didn't say that Kurtis had chosen the name, for Anna means "mercy" in Hebrew - and so he considered her a gift, a sign of mercy, as they had been granted a second chance.  
Lady Angeline took the child in her arms, sat on the sofa next to Winston, who didn't wake up, and played with her while watching her intently. “She's beautiful.” The old lady granted. “She has your hair, like mine before I got old - but these very blue eyes are not ours...”  
“Her father's.” Lara said, and smiled thinking of the immense displeasure of that father when discovering the girl had inherited his eyes. However, and this made her smile again, she'd been born a girl, which would've upset Marcus – may he rest in peace - who'd sacrificed himself awaiting the birth of a boy, a new Lux Veritatis. But the Gift which was gone in the father wasn't likely to be present in the daughter.  
Lara noticed her mother frowning. “Her father! Who's her father? And where is he?”  
“He's now absent, resolving some issues. I'm not talking about him.” She cut abruptly when seeing her mother opening her mouth to protest. “For a high-society lady like you, no one would look good enough for your _beloved_ daughter. Why do you mourn?”  
Lady Angeline played with the child, who was tugging her veil, and then whispered: “Your father's dead.” As Lara was speechless, she added. “He died not even a week ago. I'd have told you about his funeral, but you wouldn't have come.” And then her eyes welled with tears. “Can't we start over, Lara?” She begged. “You now have a daughter, and I've spent so many years alone... in his last days your father didn't even recognize me. I feel so sorry about what we did to you. In the end, I never agreed with him, but I couldn't resist his authority, you know how he was...”  
“Too late for that, Mother.” Lara muttered sourly.  
Lady Angeline sighed. “At least, don't deprive me of my granddaughter... allow me to come here and see her...”  
“Of course.” She said, shrugging. “Whenever you want. But you let me raise her my way and you won't interfere in her education.”  
The old lady nodded and looked at her granddaughter, who stared at her with her big, beautiful blue eyes.

 

* * *

 

 _My name's Anna. I'm the daughter of Lara Croft and Kurtis Trent._  
_It took me many years to find out the long story surrounding my birth, and how it all started long before I was conceived accidentally by human standards, but also predestined if you look otherwise._  
_I say it took me a long time, not because my mother refused to tell me, which she did very soon and widely, since a very young age she began to take me with her, to her journeys and adventures, to the indignation of my grandmother, Lady Croft. And not because of my father, who doesn't speak even under torture, as I often say jokingly, to the chagrin of my mother - because we all know that at some point he'd been tortured. Gradually I took from him what I could, which was less than from my mother, but he filled gaps about things my mother didn't know. I talked to Selma and Zip, even I managed to find Radha and Sita, always busy with NGOs, to go filling gaps._  
_Yet there was still a huge gap in the story, which had to be filled by one last person._  
_That was Bathsheba._

 _Neither my father nor my mother knew what had become of her. My mother assumed she'd met with her hellish friends. My father didn't assume anything, for there was nothing to assume._  
_But the truth is that Bathsheba had also survived, despite the immense, promised punishment hat Lilith had discharged on her. The Mother had not forgotten Her threat. Not being death more than a brief and painful process and after, eternal peace, She had known how to punish in a worse way Her wayward daughter._  
_I met her when I was about seventeen, while wandering in an Aztec art gallery that my mother had opened after recent diggings in Mexico. It was there where I saw her, taking notes in front of one of the windows. I recognized her right away. She was already a grown woman and not the young virgin whom my parents had described to me, but she was still immensely beautiful. In fact, all the guards in the room couldn't keep their eyes far from her. When I approached her, she showed no surprise, but looked at me calmly and even smiled. She knew me very well, as I knew her. I shook her hand, I felt it warm, and I noticed she was wearing a bandage on the wrist, with a slight trace of blood. Red blood._

 _You see, Lilith had punished her with mortality. Bathsheba, who'd been half-immortal first, then, for the briefest moment, absolutely immortal, had been condemned to be a mortal woman as anyone: exposed to disease, to injuries, accidents, the fragility of human life as it was. The amazing thing is that she'd survived, and I can't imagine what she must have suffered at first, or if she would have tried to end her life. But there she was, after all, redeemed, as predicted by the old Marcus, who gave his life for me hoping I was going to be a boy._  
_Life is never what we expect._

_Bathsheba, who was neither evil nor wicked, but who'd been simply manipulated by some and others, agreed to tell me what neither my father nor my mother knew. She'd seen and heard everything when she was a Nephilim. Therefore, taking advantage of the absence of my mother who surely would've killed her at the spot, I sat beside her during many nights in the Mexico City consulate, and took note of what her sweet voice was telling. Starting, of course, with the thoughts of her mortal mother, the spoiled Giselle, which began thus: "Listen, my little one, because I'm going to tell you a story...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for having reached until here. :)  
> If you're willing to read the sequel to this story, try my new oneshot: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6417853  
> My best whishes to all of you and, yet again, thank for your loyalty and patience.


End file.
